


thicker than water

by fathomless



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Step-siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2019-09-29 18:29:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17208665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fathomless/pseuds/fathomless
Summary: He came into her life nearly five years ago wreaking havoc and had done so ever since.She tried telling herself she hated him, tried even harder to actually do so, but no matter how much he got under her skin, she couldn’t seem to help it — One Clarke Griffin, when provoked, would never be able to resist arguing with one Bellamy Blake.Except, it’s when the arguing suddenly turns into falling in love with him that the real problems start.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I actually have other chapters of this fic finished, so since I'm ahead, updates will be weekly unlike my other WIPs! I've been working on this for about a month and just got too excited and needed to share it. Enjoy! <3

_"Would you stop that?”_

The incessant tapping of a pencil against the desk was making it hard to concentrate, breaking through her thoughts each time she attempted to pay attention to the teacher at the front of the room. It stopped momentarily at her question before starting again, slower this time.

“Why?” Bellamy asked, leaning close enough that his thigh brushed hers.  “Am I bothering you?”

Clarke gritted her teeth, debating on ignoring him. Perhaps, if she did, he would give up, or worse—double his efforts to bother her. Gripping her own pencil tighter in her hand, she turned to face him. “Yeah,” she whispered. “As a matter of fact, you are.”

The smirk on his face merely developed into a mocking pout before reverting back to its previous grin.

“Well, isn’t that a shame.”

The tapping only grew louder.

“Bellamy, I swear to God,” she started, leaning away from him. “If you don’t stop, I’ll tell Jaha you weren’t really sick last week regardless of what your forged note claimed.”

He huffed, crossing his arms. It was obvious her threat had done little to demean him. “If you do that, I’ll tell Ms. Cartwig it _was_ you who broke the vase Zoe Monroe planned on entering in the art show.”

She gasped, covering her mouth in order to stifle the sound.

“That was an accident, and you know it.” She pointed a finger at him, trying to keep her voice low. “And it only happened because you showed up in the art room while I was working on a project and refused to leave.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t me who knocked the vase to the ground, now was it?”

“No, but you _were_ the one who knocked down and broke Aurora’s frame that held the family portrait from 2014.” He smiled mirthlessly, shaking his head, as if doubting her. “You know, the one your grandmother gave her for her birthday that year.”

It was a moment before he responded again, and she smiled, turning to the next page in her notebook.

_Clarke - 1. Bellamy - 0._

Or, so, she thought.

“I only broke it because you and Octavia-”

Despite how quiet she thought they had been, they still made enough noise to harbor an audience. Or, at least, the attention of Mr. Pike, who had stopped his lecturing, turned to focus on the two of them, and with him, the rest of the class. 

“Blake,” he reprimanded, obviously agitated by their interruption. Clarke cringed, trying to think of a way to shrink back into her seat, knowing her name would come next. “Griffin. What’s so important that you find it necessary to disrupt my class?”

Behind her, someone snickered, and she resisted the urge to glare at whoever it had been. Bellamy apparently didn’t hold the same self-control, however, turning his head to glower at them.

“Sorry, sir. Clarke was, uh, asking me a question about the topic at hand,” Bellamy lied easily, not to her surprise. She could feel his gaze on her and resisted the urge to look over at him. She wouldn’t let him win.

“Is that right, Mr. Blake?” He nodded warily in response, and she found herself doing the same for good measure. “What was the topic?”

At Bellamy’s silence, she panicked, thinking back to the last words she remembered hearing from the lecture.

“It was on the importance of forward thinking in the wilderness, Mr. Pike.” She plastered on her best fake smile for the next part, hoping he would buy it. “Something you speak so passionately about, I just didn’t want to interrupt you. I figured Bellamy could answer my question.” Beside her, Bellamy nodded in agreement. Clarke tried to ignore the whispering of the other students around them.

Mr. Pike looked skeptical, and the pencil in her hand shook from nervousness as she counted the seconds ticking by.

Bellamy’s hand reached out to cover hers, but she pulled it away just as fast, the feeling too unexpected—unwelcome, really. She furrowed her brow, looking up to see him sending her a look as if to say, _“Keep it together.”_

“Very well,” Mr. Pike assented, turning back to the board at the front of the room although there were less than five minutes left before the bell was scheduled to ring.

She was unprepared when, a moment later, Bellamy slid a neatly folded piece of paper over to her. Turning slightly, she could see that he was focused on his notebook, scrawling what appeared to be notes from the PowerPoint displayed by the projector. Huffing a breath, she leaned back in her seat, carefully unfolding the piece of paper.

Written in all caps, as his words usually were, marks from the pencil dark enough she wondered how he managed to not break the lead, _THANKS FOR SAVING MY ASS._

Underneath his words, Clarke quickly wrote her own before sliding the paper back over to him. She watched as he read them, lips twisted in a way she knew meant he was trying not to smile.

_Who said anything about saving_ _yours?_

The bell rang only seconds later, and she found it easier to breathe, no longer having to worry about being reprimanded. Without a second glance back, she gathered her books, pushing through the crowd of students in the hallway in an effort to make it to her locker.

“You need a ride home?” Though it was to be expected, she found herself flinching at the sound of his voice behind her.

Clarke shook her head, attempting to shove a biology textbook into her bag. “Not from you.”

“Let me guess, you’d rather walk?” He leaned back against the locker next to hers, nearly too-tight jacket binding to his arms in a way that she knew was enough to make the other girls drool. Clarke rolled her eyes at the thought, slamming her locker shut none too gently.

“If the only other option is to be stuck in a car with you for fifteen minutes? Yes, in that case, I _would_ rather walk.” She pulled her bag onto her shoulders, zipping her jacket before pulling up the hood of it in preparation for the weather. Bellamy was close behind her, Clarke knew, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back at him.

“And double the time it takes to get there even though it’s pouring the rain?” Now caught up with her, he was sure to get to the front doors first, holding one open with a smirk—that, alone, was enough to infuriate her. She smiled sweetly, eyes locked on his, as she wrenched open the door next him. “I think you’re bluffing, Princess.”

“Well, I think you’re full of shit, Blake.” She scarcely dodged running into a freshman carrying a tuba, muttering her apology as she turned to glare at Bellamy. He merely grinned before bringing a hand to lay over his heart, pouting playfully.

“Come on, is that any way to talk to your brother?” Clarke feigned a gagging sound at his words, resisting the urge to actually do so. He grinned wider in response, as if her disgust brought him joy. (It probably did.)

_“Step-brother,”_ she corrected quickly, wrinkling her nose. “You’re not, nor will you ever be, my brother. Please be kind enough to remember that.”

“You wound me, Clarke.” He shook his head, pulling his keys from his pocket and aiming a wave at Octavia as she came into view. She’d likely raced her way through the halls and had quickly grown tired of waiting for them in the rain, judging by the annoyed expression she wore; frown etched into her features, arm crossed. Clarke waved weakly. “You still throwing a temper tantrum or are you riding home with us?” Bellamy asked as they came closer to the portion of the parking lot he’d parked in. She sighed, rubbing her hands together in an attempt to find some semblance of warmth in the cold from the downpour around them.

“Tell Dad and Aurora I’ll be home soon.” His mouth fell open slightly, eyes narrowing at her.

“I’ll tell them,” Octavia said when Bellamy failed to respond. “Are you sure you don’t want to just ride with us?”

“No, I’ll be okay.”

Except, she regretted her choice almost as soon as she’d made it, the rain enough to make her wish she’d accepted Bellamy’s offer. It worked through her layers of clothing quickly, and she could hardly see with it coming down so heavily. Tears involuntary slid down her face due to the wind, and no sooner than she’d escaped the sound of the old Chevy, barely running despite all of the maintenance put into it, she heard it come up behind her again, slowing although she knew several cars were behind it.

“Come on, Clarke, quit being stubborn.”

The sound of his voice alone was enough to make the situation worse. She shivered, pulling the jacket she’d opted to wear that morning further around herself.

“Go home, Bellamy.”

A car blew its horn in the lane behind him, but that did nothing to ward him off.

“I will, as soon as you get in the damn truck.” She ignored him, speeding up her steps while her legs protested it. “I’m not about to get yelled at just because your stubborn ass wouldn’t accept a ride from me and ended up getting pneumonia.”

“Being in the rain doesn’t even cause pneumonia,” she explained, raising her voice to be heard over the traffic.

_“Clarke.”_

“Bellamy.”

“Come _on.”_

They fought in much of the same fashion until Octavia began to complain, and Bellamy found it necessary to leave Clarke be as a result. She inwardly thanked the fact that the younger girl was going through a stage where she felt the need to complain almost constantly. Though it was irritating more often than not, at times, it could be helpful.

Her legs felt numb from the walk, face burning from the weather as their house came into view, and suddenly she ached with embarrassment. If she hadn’t constantly felt the need to challenge Bellamy, she could have been home without a hassle. Yet, she’d again decided to put on a brave face, resulting in more harm to herself than feeling victorious for a few blissful moments was worth.

Not that she’d admit that to him, or anybody else, for that matter.

She hadn’t noticed earlier, but as it came closer into view, she could see Bellamy standing on the porch, his arms crossed, either in anger or disappointment —probably both.

“Do you take pride in being the most infuriating person alive?” She closed the gate behind her, pausing as she took him in.

“I do, actually. Thank you for noticing.”

“Very funny,” he deadpanned, obviously not finding any humor in her words. “I’m surprised you can form a full sentence right now considering how cold you must be.”

“You know, I wouldn’t find it necessary to walk home if you hadn’t made such a big deal about me riding with you a few weeks ago.”

“That was a few weeks ago, Clarke, I literally asked if you wanted to ride with me not even an hour ago.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She shoved her boots off, setting them on the shoe rack near the door. Bellamy followed behind her, not wanting the conversation to be finished, although she wasn’t sure she had anything else to say to him.

“How does it not matter, Clarke?” He wrapped his hand around hers, pulling her to face him. She ignored the shock that went through her as his skin touched hers, albeit not for the first time today, before pulling her hand back, though she didn’t make any move to step away from him. “You just love being difficult, don’t you? Do you have any idea how-”

“Don’t tell me you two are fighting again.” Aurora, Bellamy and Octavia’s mother, entered the room, shaking her head at the sight of them. Before Clarke knew what was happening, Bellamy pulled her into his side, as if to hug her, and her own hand involuntarily wrapped around his waist in response.

“Nope,” he lied, forcing a smile onto his face. “Everything’s good here. Right, Clarke?”

“Right.” Clarke smiled, too, leaning her head against his shoulder despite everything which told her not to. “We’re all good. Bellamy’s just being stubborn, as usual,” she explained, reveling in the look he sent her as a result.

“There’s no need to lie, we all know you’re the stubborn one.” She felt him reach up to tousle her hair and resisted the urge to slap his hand away. Aurora merely smiled, a tight smile which told her she didn’t believe them, but would accept their words anyway.

“You’re _both_ stubborn,” she corrected. “Now, try to get along for once in your lives, okay? That’s all I ask.”

It seemed she’d been asking the same thing for the last five years.

They both nodded, quickly pulling away from each other once she left the room.

_“You’re insufferable,”_ Clarke hissed, heading towards the kitchen.

“So are you.”

She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away, and try as she might, ignoring them didn’t work as well as she’d hoped.

* * *

Things hadn’t _always_ been that way.

No, in fact, at one point they were much worse.

It was nearly five years ago, three years after Clarke’s mom had divorced her dad for some hotshot lawyer she’d met while working on a case. Clarke didn’t mind, not really—they’d fought more often than they’d gotten along, anyway, and they’d never been a close-knit family in the first place. It hadn’t felt like she was losing anything, but rather, was gaining freedom from the stress their constant fighting had brought.

Then, Jake met Aurora, a seamstress from the lower end of town known. Though the location would have negatively impacted many people, considering the way many viewed the area, she’d had wonderful reviews. Clarke had heard of her many times before Jake introduced them, had even met her once when she was younger and her mother had taken her to have a dress hemmed, but when her father mentioned the prospect of the two of them getting married, she hadn’t taken the news well.

Aurora, however, wasn’t the problem.

Early into their relationship, Jake had mentioned the fact that Aurora had two children, likely trying to gauge Clarke’s reaction, and at first, she had been ecstatic at the thought of possibly gaining siblings, if it were to ever reach that point, and upon meeting them, Clarke thought Octavia was sweet. Or, well, as sweet as a nine year old could be.

Bellamy, on the other hand, was an entirely different situation.

She didn’t like how he referred to her as Princess no matter how many times she corrected him, nor did she like the way he treated her around his friends, or how he would pull her hair whenever he walked by her, hoping she wouldn’t notice it was him. He was rude, arrogant, and she figured he would have been one of the boys in school that she couldn’t stand to be around.

In their first year of knowing each other, they hadn’t been able to occupy the same room without a screaming match ensuing, and briefly, she’d wished their parents’ marriage wouldn’t work out.

Looking back on it, it had been selfish of her, though she hadn’t thought of it in those terms at the time.

Somewhere along the way, she realized that in her excitement to gain two new siblings, she’d only gained one, though she wasn’t entirely sure, even now, if Octavia considered her a sister.

“I’m tired.” Octavia stifled a yawn, burrowing further under the blanket she’d decided to drag downstairs.

“You’re the one who wanted to watch another movie,” Clarke pointed out, counting the M&M’s in her hand, a habit of doing that she’d had since she was a child.

If she were being honest, she was tired, too, and probably already would have been in bed had Octavia not practically begged her to join in her movie marathon. Clarke wasn’t sure it counted as a marathon, watching a few movies, not really, but that’s what they usually referred to it as, so it seemed to fit.

“You guys are still up?” Bellamy mumbled, pulling at his hair. “Figured you would’ve hit the hay by now, Clarke,” he teased, plopping onto the other end of the couch. She immaturely shifted her feet to cover the cushion, but he merely lifted them onto his lap, unbothered.

“Judging by your state of bedhead, I assume you’ve already been to sleep. Who’s the loser now?”

He reached over, quickly grabbing a piece of candy from her hand before chewing thoughtfully.

“Yeah, no… still you.”

“Asshole.”

“Can you shut up?”

Clarke rolled her eyes, Octavia too transfixed on the TV in front of her to notice. Bellamy leaned over the cushion between them, resting his chin on her shoulder to whisper, “You’re such a brat.”

He stayed on her shoulder, awaiting a response, and she tried to ignore his warmth, though it admittedly didn’t work as well as she’d wanted it to. “Get off of me,” she mumbled, though he only leaned further into her, his face burying itself against her neck. “Bellamy, seriously, leave me alone.” When he didn’t move, she shook her head, then brought her free hand up to forcibly shove him off.

“Be gentle,” he chastised her, rubbing at his arm. “You’re stronger than you look.”

“It would be smart of you to remember that.” Her hand found its way into the bowl of popcorn yet again as she turned back to the TV, though it was difficult to focus when she no longer knew what was happening in the movie. “So, what’s-””

“Quiet.” Octavia brought a finger to her lips, frown marring her features. Among many other things, she wasn’t fond of when people made noise while she was trying to watch TV. Clarke wasn’t particularly okay with the fact, either, but she hadn’t been very invested in the movie they were currently watching in the first place, so she wasn’t bothered.

“Right, well, I’m going upstairs.” She tossed the bowl in Bellamy’s direction, not waiting to see if he’d caught it, before heading into the hallway.

“Sleep tight.” His voice was too sweet to hold any real sincerity, and though she didn’t dare look back at him, she knew that if she did, he’d have a grin to match it. Rather than dignifying him with a response, she continued walking. She’d learned over the years that responding to his taunting only worked to make him even more unbearable. That didn’t mean she didn’t take the bait more often than not, though—she figured that was her fatal flaw. One Clarke Griffin, when provoked, would almost always be unable to resist the temptation of arguing with one Bellamy Blake.

The next morning, the first sound she’d registered was that of the pounding of a fist against a door, the sound reverberating throughout her room. There was no time for her to react to it with the way sleep still clung to her limbs, and she rolled over, burying her face against the silk of a pillowcase for a few glorious seconds before her blanket was roughly being pulled away from her body, exposing her skin to the chill of the room.

Clarke groaned, opening her eyes to the sight of a pair of legs at her bedside. She didn’t question who they belonged to, already knowing with the heaviness in their steps, the lack of finesse with which they dropped her blanket to the floor. Muffled against her pillow as she tried to gather what little warmth was left in her bed, pulling aimlessly at the sheet that had fallen to the end of it, “Go away, Bellamy.” He didn’t move.

“No can do, Clarke. Do you want a ride to school or not?”

She considered his question briefly, trying to keep her eyes open while doing so.

“No.”

“Jake already left for work, and Mom’s out, too. I’m your only choice.” He picked the blanket up, dropping it onto her. She didn’t move to fix it. “If you don’t get your ass up now, you’ll have to walk,” he called from the door.

“Maybe I want to,” she snapped, though it wasn’t true.

When silence followed, she decided that, maybe, she should listen to him. After all, she didn’t have the energy to walk, not after doing so yesterday.

“No, you don’t.” Then, from down the hallway, “You have fifteen minutes, Clarke. Don’t make me have to explain why you’re not at school.”

When he played the radio at an obnoxious volume despite knowing she didn’t like loud noises in the morning, she also decided that, perhaps, she needed to get her own car. Having to depend on him for anything was terrible enough, but having to depend on him to take her places whenever their parents couldn’t was even worse. She knew she was probably making it a bigger deal than it was, but she didn’t like Bellamy being able to hold it- or anything for that matter- over her head. One wrong move, and she’d have to involuntary walk to school for however long he deemed necessary.

Though she hoped he wasn’t that cruel, she wouldn’t put it past him—after all, he _had_ taken away her CD player privileges for months at a time once when they were thirteen. He’d claimed that because it was his first, he was able to dictate who used it and when, and Clarke apparently wasn’t worthy enough, for whatever reason.

“Could you turn that down?” she mumbled, leaning her head against the window.

“Nope.”

Clarke had suspected it beforehand, but knew he turned the volume up on purpose following a twist of his lips he’d quickly fought to tamper down, not wanting her to see. She rolled her eyes, wishing Octavia had been with them. Had it been a normal day, she would have been, but one of her clubs had meetings before school every Friday morning, which meant Jake usually dropped her off before heading to work himself.

“If Octavia were here you would,” she pointed out, though she wasn’t quite sure why.

“Yeah, but she isn’t, so…” he trailed off, changing to another radio station once the current one loudly burst with static, not seeming like it would go back to normal anytime soon. She heaved a sigh, leaning further against the window, whether it be because she was comfortable or to gain more distance between herself and Bellamy, she wasn’t sure. It may have been a combination of the two.

When he pulled into his usual spot and shifted the gear into park, Clarke quickly gathered her things, nearly falling over in her haste to get out of the truck. She vaguely registered Bellamy meeting with his group of friends, though she didn’t think he liked half of them enough for them to _really_ be considered friends. One of them (Murphy, she thought) commented, “Where’s the other sister?” but she didn’t pay them any attention. In the distance, she could hear Bellamy telling him to knock it off in response to whatever else it was he had said— _who knew, really._

She wasn’t exactly keen on finding out.

“You look happy this morning,” Harper commented as she opened her locker, frown likely etched into her features as a result of her morning so far. She smiled in acknowledgment of the one her friend sent.

“Oh, you know,” she started, standing on the tips of her toes to place her backpack on one of the hooks at the top of the space. “Bellamy.” She didn’t elaborate any further, and based on the understanding hum of agreement Harper responded with, she hadn’t needed to in the first place.

“I figured. What did he do this time?”

“Aside from being his usual annoying self? Not much, really.”

“Makes sense. Are you coming to the game tonight?” She handed Clarke a book she’d asked her to hold while rummaging through her mess of others. Organized in most other aspects of her life, Clarke tried to keep her locker neat to make it easier on herself, though it never lasted longer than the first week of school, which they were way past. “A few of us thought we might hang out afterwards, figured you might be interested.”

Clarke sighed.

She considered saying yes, but questioned whether she really wanted to. Harper would probably be preoccupied with Monty, truth be told, considering she’d recently admitted to having a crush on the boy and seemed to forget anything else existed when she was around him. It was cute, really, Clarke wanted her to be happY. But along with that, Jasper would be preoccupied with God knows who (or what), and she wasn’t exactly interested in being left alone in the midst of it all. She knew, however, that she wouldn’t be able to come up with a believable excuse if she said no.

Clarke considered lying, anyway.

“You know I’m not exactly the… biggest football fan,” she shrugged. “Why don’t you and Monty go alone?”

“I tried that,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “He insisted on Jasper coming, you know, since they apparently don’t know how to go anywhere without one another, and _he’ll_ probably insist on Maya hanging out with us. I figured you could sort of act as the… middleman?” She suggested, pausing to think of the appropriate phrase. “My wingwoman? I don’t know, I just wanted you there. I figured it would help, and we haven’t hung out in forever, anyway.”

“Yes we have, we-”

“Not outside of school.” Clarke stayed quiet, focusing on the tiles beneath her feet. “Come on, Clarke,” Harper pleaded. Clarke looked up to a mischievous glint in her eye, one side of her mouth twisted into a smile.

“What?” Her voice was monotonous despite her friend’s obvious excitement surrounding the answer. Clarke shot her an exasperated look. “Seriously, what is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” she finally spoke. “It’s just that Finn was planning on hanging out with us, too. He asked about you.”

Clarke stilled slightly at the name.

Finn had just transferred schools at the end of last year, and though Clarke hadn’t had the chance to be around him at first and had tried her best to ignore his presence as a whole, really, she couldn’t help but talk to him upon being paired together for a history project this year.

He was charming, in the predictable way, and if she were being honest, he was a little over the top at times, too. Despite that, though, he had been kind, constantly asking how she was and what he could help contribute to the project, much unlike their other group members.

When she’d been out sick for three days with a cold she suspected she’d caught from Bellamy after he’d had it, Finn had gotten her number from Jasper and asked if she was okay, wondering when she thought she’d be coming back. Though it didn’t seem like a big deal, when she talked to him, she felt like she was being _seen,_ and maybe that was stupid of her.

Clarke didn’t garner crushes easily, could count on one hand the number of crushes she’d had over the years and still have fingers left over, but with him, it was different—she could feel it. It was merely a small crush, sure, but it was unlike any of the others she’d had, and she found herself blindly hoping he felt the same way.

Harper knew what she was doing when she mentioned him, and if Clarke hadn’t been slightly angry with her for it, in the way most people felt when met with their friends’ deviance, she might have hugged her for the genius behind it. She tried telling herself it wasn’t a big deal, that she wouldn’t cave at the mention of him, and she felt stupid for suddenly feeling like she _had_ to go.

She shouldn’t feel obligated to go simply because he’d be there, right?

“I don’t know, Harper,” Clarke struggled, glancing over at her. When she saw the beginnings of a hopeful smile waiting to grow into a full-fledged grin, her decision had been made. “I _guess_ I can go for a little while,” she shrugged exaggeratedly.

“You’re the best person I know,” Harper boasted as she turned to walk into her class. “Have I ever told you that?”

She smirked, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I’ll keep that in mind for when you try to tell me otherwise.”

When she made it to class, entering the room right as the bell began to ring, the only vacant seat left was the one directly in front of Bellamy. Being in the same grade as him, unfortunately, had many drawbacks. Multiple shared classes was one of them.

“Glad you decided to finally grace us with your presence,” he murmured, but rather than a welcoming, it more resembled a complaint.

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” Clarke snarked back. She heard him laugh in response, though he didn’t say anything else to her for the remainder of class.

Sometimes she wondered if he grew tired of this war between them, a back-and-forth mantra of condescending remarks and sarcastic replies, constantly having to be on edge with one another around. She figured, if he did, he wouldn’t stop, even if only for the sake of not wanting to admit defeat. He’d always been prideful, after all, and she’d never understood it.

When they were on their way out to the parking lot at the end of the day, out of curiosity, she asked him, “Are you going to the game tonight?”

He shrugged, mulling it over. “Maybe.” After a second’s hesitance, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck in a nervous tick he’d had for years, for reasons unbeknownst to her, he added, “Sports aren’t really my thing, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” she agreed. He shook his head, huffing a laugh.

He’d never liked sports. It was something she’d noticed as he’d quickly grown bored each time he tried watching soccer with her and her fat her over the years, no matter how interesting they tried to make it, explaining the game to him play by play. He’d claimed to not have the brain for it, but she knew that was a lie. “I just figured you might go to hang out with your friends or something.”

“Are you going?”

“I think so.”

He pondered her words for a moment before smiling. She frowned, not liking where this was headed. “Maybe,” he started slowly, smile turning smug. “I should consider going then.”

_“No.”_

“Why not?”

She groaned in frustration before threatening, “I’ll tell Dad and Aurora you’re pestering me again.”

“Go ahead.”

Though she didn’t like the glint in his eye that told her the conversation likely wasn’t over, or the smirk on his face which probably meant he’d already thought of a plan to ruin her night, she relented, climbing into the truck beside Octavia. “Your brother’s a jerk,” she mumbled, pulling her seatbelt on.

“He’s your brother, too,” and despite the fact that she’d heard the words directed at her many times before, this time, she didn’t like the way her stomach felt when they settled.

“Step-brother,” she corrected feebly.

“Same difference.” The younger girl shrugged, looking down at her phone. Clarke didn’t bother to say anything further, unsure she could properly get the words out even she tried.

On the way home, she didn’t pay attention to Bellamy’s antics, not even when he rolled her window down as her head leaned against it, an action which would usually prompt her to roll her eyes at the least.

She told herself she simply wasn’t in the mood for his teasing.

* * *

It hadn’t been a lie, what she’d told Harper earlier in the day—she _wasn’t_ a big fan of football.

Which is why, rather than paying attention to what was happening in the game, she was preoccupied with her phone, scrolling through whatever app she found interesting at the time (currently Pinterest), while waiting for the others to find them in the crowd. It wasn’t particularly packed, but then again they were a small school and their football team wasn’t exactly what they deemed _good,_  so the games hardly ever were.

The sun had already started to set, sky tinged with shades of orange and pink intermingling, purple off in the distance if she looked closely enough. The stadium lights slowly turned on to illuminate the surrounding area. She itched to pick up the nearest paintbrush. Aside from working on the piece she planned to enter in the art show, she hadn’t done much painting lately. Or art in general, really. If anyone were to ask, she’d admit to missing it, and claim she wasn’t really sure why she’d started to grow away from it—and it was true, she wasn’t.

“Look who finally made it,” Harper raved, looking gleefully over at Clarke.

Clarke turned away from the sky, where she’d been previously focused, her attention catching momentarily on a group of younger boys acting all too foolishly for public display, before looking up to see that Finn, Jasper and Monty had finally made it. “Hi,” she spoke, likely too quiet for their current location, so she lifted a hand up, waving lamely. The others said their greetings, quickly moving into a conversation about the game in front of them.

Harper moved down a row, glancing back at Clarke to make it known she had done so to room for Finn. He took Harper’s previously vacated spot beside her, Jasper and Maya on his other side while Monty took a seat beside Harper.

Finn cleared his throat, tucking his hands into the pockets of the faded jacket he wore. Not knowing him very well and having never interacted with him outside of school, Clarke wasn’t sure what to say.

“I’ll be honest,” he started, leaning closer. His shoulder bumped against hers. “I’m not a very big fan of football.” Clarke smiled, happy to have something to talk with him about, at least. Absentmindedly, she hoped they had even more in common, that this was a good sign.

“Neither am I.” She scrunched her nose with disdain, and he laughed in response. It was short, a light sound, but one she’d like to hear again, if the fluttering in her stomach was any indication. “If we’re still sharing secrets, I only came because Harper wouldn’t quit bothering me about it.” It wasn’t the complete truth, but it was all he needed to know.

While the crowd around them cheered for touchdowns and collectively protested fumbles by the home team, she learned that Finn was originally from a town near Cincinnati, and that he had moved due to his father getting a job transfer. She also learned that he liked English class, and that he was an only child, though he spoke fondly of a childhood friend whom he grew up next to that had been almost like family. When she asked about the girl, he stiffened slightly, telling Clarke that her father had left when she was young and hadn’t been in contact since, and that her mother was an alcoholic and only used her as an excuse to get extra money.

Finn and his family had cared for her like their own.

“It’s cool that you had her, at least,” Clarke told him, and though he smiled, nodded in response, she saw the tension in his shoulders, and the way he began to fidget with the button on the sleeve of his jacket. “I’m sure you miss her.”

He swallowed.

“Yeah,” he agreed solemnly. Then, for the first time of the night, he peered around to look at the scoreboard, as if he actually had any interest in the game. Clarke figured he didn’t like talking much about the girl from home. She didn’t blame him, it was probably a sore subject. After all, if she were to move away, she would miss her friends, too. Suddenly, “Do you want anything from the concession stands?”

“If you don’t mind, sure,” Clarke said slowly, reaching into her purse to retrieve her wallet. “I’ll take a Gatorade, and then if you want anything, you can go ahead and get it.” She smiled, handing him a wrinkled five dollar bill after trying her best to smoothen it with her hands.

“I’ve got my own,” he reassured her, waving it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“At least take it so you don’t have to pay for mine.” She’d never liked making people pay for her when it was unnecessary, not even for the smaller things such as candy. It wasn’t her pride interfering, no, but something she considered to be respectful, likely due to how her parents had raised her. If she had the money, she could pay for herself. “Please?”

“Fine. What Princess wants, Princess gets.” He smirked, squeezing her arm before standing and moving past the others in order to reach the stairs.

Clarke watched him go, uneasiness filling her at his use of the familiar nickname. Although, it certainly wasn’t familiar coming from him, and she didn’t dare think about why him using it made her feel the way it did. Instead, she resituated herself so she could view the field properly, figuring that even if she couldn’t understand what was happening, she could at least _try_ to. At the very least, she could ask Harper if she ended up absolutely clueless.

But by the time the majority of the crowd stood, cheering loudly- many of them ringing cowbells or air horns- and she had no clue as to why despite Harper trying to explain, she gave up attempting to understand. She probably never would, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Much like Bellamy with soccer, apparently.

“Where’d Finn go?” Harper asked.

“Concession stands. He should be back soon unless the line’s long.”

“Are you hanging out with all of us after?”

“Oh.” Clarke took a moment to consider, then shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m kind of tired,” she explained.

“Come on, Griffin,” Jasper cut in, sliding closer to them so he could be more easily heard. “Live a little.”

She agreed to think about it, hoping for them to leave her alone, which they quickly did. Sighing, she pulled out her phone. After mindlessly looking through her Facebook and Instagram fends for a moment, she typed out a quick reply to a video Octavia had texted her earlier. She had never been good at promptly responding.

Upon hitting send, she felt a light tap on her shoulder, the presence of someone lingering close behind. Before she had the chance to turn and see who it was, they leaned in to whisper in her ear, “So who’s winning?” in that smug voice she couldn’t stand to hear. His breath was warm against the side of her neck as he spoke, and chills covered her arms.

“Bellamy.” He moved down a bleacher, effectively taking Finn’s seat (Where the hell had he run off to, anyway?) before leaning back against the previous row, crossing his arms nonchalantly. “I thought I told you not to come.”

Bellamy shook his head once, raising an eyebrow. “Last time I checked, I don’t take orders from you.”

“You’re an ass.”

“And you’re a brat, we’ve already been over this.” He nudged her shoulder playfully, but she only glared at him in response. Finn chose that moment to return, not seeming to notice Bellamy at first as he spoke.

“The only Gatorade they had was red, I hope that’s okay. Here’s your change.” Bellamy narrowed his eyes as he took him in, not seeming to like what he saw, though Clarke couldn’t understand why. Rolling her eyes, she reached out her hand in waiting, and after passing her the drink, Finn placed the leftover dollars within her grasp. When he looked up, likely realizing Bellamy was there, he paused.

“You can sit over here,” Clarke rushed to explain, moving slightly closer to Bellamy in order to make room for hi’m. “Sorry. What took so long?” She tried to make conversation, though he still seemed to be focused on the new addition to the group.

“Uh,” he started, refocusing his attention on her. “The line was ridiculously long.”

“That’s-”

“It didn’t look that long from where I saw,” Bellamy cut in, angling his body towards Finn.

“Must’ve been wrapped around the other way, I guess.”

“Finn,” Harper took a moment away from the game, noticing his return. “You made it back finally.” Then, noticing Bellamy’s presence, “Oh,” she looked at Clarke warily. “Hey, Bellamy.”

“Hey.” He smiled. “So, Clarke, do you plan on introducing me to your friend here or do I have to introduce myself?” Clarke pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to make a fool of herself by reacting any other way she was considering.

She faced Finn, who was watching the two of them with a strange look on his face, one she couldn’t quite decipher.

“Finn, this is,” she paused, her next words coming slowly, “my brother, Bellamy.”

He huffed a breath, moving quickly to correct her. “Step-brother.”

“Unfortunately,” she muttered. “Bane of My Existence, this is Finn.”

Finn reached out a hand to shake Bellamy’s, which he seemed to take begrudgingly. Bellamy kept his attention on Clarke. “I’ve been upgraded from asshole to bane of your existence?” She nodded. “That’s so sweet of you,” he mocked her. “You know, we really should rethink this whole unspoken _no hug_ rule we have.”

“Never.”

“You’ll see.”

“Clarke, did you ever decide whether you’re hanging out with us after this?” Monty asked after a few moments. Bellamy seemed to perk up at the question, looking over at her, eyebrow raised in question.

Despite how she felt about it earlier, realizing she hadn’t spent much time with Finn at all, and wanting to see Bellamy’s reaction to it, she answered, “Yeah, I think I am. I’ll just need a ride home later if Bellamy won’t pick me up.” She glanced over at him, his jaw clenched as he shook his head. “I’ll need a ride,” she amended, knowing he wouldn’t change his mind.

“I don’t mind taking you home afterwards,” Finn offered. She smiled.

“Thanks,” and she couldn’t be sure whether it was her imagination, but she thought she saw Bellamy frown as she said it.

He hadn’t, had he?

Bellamy bid his goodbyes with fifteen minutes left in the game, not that Clarke minded.

They spent an hour afterwards at a local diner nearby, squeezed into a booth since it was the only table left. She found herself leaning further and further into Finn as time drew on, and was suddenly unable to stop herself from laughing at Jasper’s lame jokes as he tried to impress Maya. Personally, Clarke thought the jokes were funny, really, and she told him such, watching with pride as he seemed to sit up straighter thereafter.

Finn got along well with her friends, making them laugh and seeming to have a knack for knowing when to say exactly the right thing, and she found herself briefly wondering if he would become a permanent fixture in their group, if this could be a regular thing. He rested his hand on her knee at one point, squeezing it slightly as he smiled over at her. Enjoying the sparks it seemed to send throughout her, Clarke didn’t dare move it.

When she realized it was almost her curfew, she told Finn, and he drove her home without complaint, not like how she knew Bellamy would have done.

Their drive was quiet aside from music flowing softly from the speakers, the occasional comment one of them would make about their surroundings. A drive home with Bellamy would have consisted of him purposefully changing the station to music he knew she didn’t like, then turning it to an obnoxious volume. He probably would have sung along to it, too, and made snide comments about the night that would only work to annoy her as she tried her best to ignore him.

He knew exactly how to rile her up, after all, and Finn was nothing like him.

She was glad.

When they pulled into her driveway, Finn turned the ignition off.

“What are you-”

“Oh. I figured I would walk you to the door, that’s all.” He looked down at his lap before looking up at her, his smile sheepish.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting it,” she lamented. When he seemed to feel better at her words, she pushed the car door open. “Let’s go.”

Although it was a short walk, their hands found each other, fingers intertwining loosely. She paused once they were on the porch, unsure of how to proceed. For some reason, she felt nervous. The hand not laced with his quickly found a loose string she knew was hanging from her jacket, playing with it.

“Thank you driving me,” she said. He took a step closer to her, smiling slightly.

“Thanks for letting me.” His words were light, spoken with ease.

Though the conversation seemed to be finished, she didn’t dare move away. Neither did he, but rather, they migrated closer to one another. Clarke thought he might kiss her, the way his eyes quickly darted down to her lips once, twice. She hadn’t thought about it sooner, but her chest suddenly felt heavy.

She wanted him to.

“Finn,” she breathed, unsure of what she planned on saying next. Clarke tensed the moment he drew closer, realizing she had never kissed anyone before, wondering if she would be bad at it, what he would think, but he didn’t seem to notice. He only leaned closer. Her hand tightened around his, their noses brushing just barely, _so close-_

The door opened suddenly, causing the two of them to practically jump apart. Clarke’s heart pounded heavily, and she wondered if it were loud enough for anyone else to hear. She looked up to see Finn staring pointedly at whoever had answered the door, arms crossed against his chest, and Clarke turned to see Bellamy leaning against it.

He grinned knowingly, waving at them. Clarke threw him a dirty look, before telling Finn, “Thank you, really. I should probably…” she trailed off, hoping he understood. He nodded.

“‘Night.”

Clarke figured if looks could kill, based on the one Bellamy was sending him, Finn would be damn near dead. She shoved past him, into the foyer, and once making sure their parents weren’t around, “What the hell was that?”

Bellamy shrugged one shoulder, aloof, but she knew better. “I saw headlights outside, figured I’d look and see who it was. Sorry I interrupted time with your boyfriend.” He practically spat the last word.

“He’s not my boyfriend, and even if he were, that’s none of your business,” she clarified, stepping closer to shove a finger at his chest. “If you wanted to see who it was, you would’ve looked out the window. You _knew_ it was me.” Then, “Do you enjoy constantly trying to ruin my life?” He didn’t back down, stepping into her personal space, but either not realizing it or not caring about the fact. She would have guessed the latter.

His response was simple, complacent. “What do you think, Princess?”

Clarke swallowed, only just now registering how close he was - _how much closer he had gotten._ She should have backed down, should have stepped away, but couldn’t find it in herself to do anything other than stay right where she was.

Voice wavering slightly, “I don’t know, you tell me.”

But he didn’t. Instead, his eyes widened only a fraction, something she wouldn’t have noticed had she not been paying such close attention. He stepped away from her quickly, as if he’d been burned, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Wordlessly, her skin feeling as though it was on fire for reasons unbeknownst to her, she watched him go. When he was halfway up the steps, he turned, and even from where she stood, she could see his face soften.

It was strange to see that look directed at her.

“Goodnight, Clarke.”

Just as soft, unfamiliar even to herself, “‘Night, Bellamy.”

Clarke watched his retreating form, waiting for another biting remark, a snide comment about Finn being her boyfriend. It would have been typical of him, and she expected it; had already thought through any possible comebacks.

Except it never came.


	2. Chapter 2

On Monday between fifth period and lunch, Harper was sure to find her. They hadn’t had time to speak before classes started, and in those few hours, Clarke had already braced herself for the assortment of questions she knew would be coming her way.

“Did you have fun on your date?” She smiled, leaning forward in waiting. Clarke sighed, unable to resist a smile of her own, and closed her locker, making sure not to do so too roughly.

“First of all, it wasn’t a date—you were literally there the entire time,” she started, holding up a finger as she resituated a stack of textbooks in the crook of her left arm. “We were alone for all of fifteen minutes on the ride home. Second of all, nothing happened, so whatever details you were looking for, I have none to give.”

Harper scoffed. _“Nothing?”_ she prodded. Clarke shrugged.

“I mean, we didn’t really talk on the way home.” She waved as she passed one of the freshmen she knew, a timid girl named Charlotte. “When we got there, he did walk me to the door, though.”

“And?”

“I thought he might kiss me.” Clarke watched as her friend’s face lit up in curiosity, and wondered if mentioning it had been a mistake. “We almost kissed,” she corrected, adding, “I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you?”

_Why hadn’t they._

“Bellamy decided to oh-so-innocently interrupt.” Clarke rolled her eyes at the memory, not able to fully understand why he’d done so in the first place. She knew it wasn’t because of the excuse he gave, most definitely not. He didn’t seem to be fond of Finn, but then again, he wasn’t exactly fond of _her_ , either. That couldn’t have had anything to do with it.

When Harper began to snicker, she stopped, sending her a pointed look. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just... You get this look on your face when you talk about him, and your nose scrunches up.” She gestured to Clarke’s face as if to point it out, then shrugged a shoulder, brushing it off as if it were no big deal. Clarke, meanwhile, was confused. “It’s funny, that’s all.”

“When I talk about… Finn?” She asked, a part of her hoping that was whom her friend had been referring to, if only so she wouldn’t have to talk about Bellamy any longer.

Harper shook her head. “No, when you talk about Bellamy.”

“He just- it’s like he’s out to ruin my life or something, you know? It’s frustrating.”

“I totally understand,” she assured her. “Brothers are like that.”

Clarke tried not to bristle at Harper’s use of the word. _Brother._

Since the night he’d interrupted her almost-kiss with Finn, things between them had been… tense, to say the least. Not necessarily tense in the way most people would consider tense to be, hard glares and cold shoulders nowhere to be seen. Their own version consisted mostly of yelling at each other, quite literally over spilled milk (Only once, okay?), while Bellamy’s teasing was brought to a completely new level.

As if talking about him wasn’t bad enough, she spotted him then across the lunchroom, sat at a table with his group of friends.

He didn’t appear to be eating lunch. Instead, his face was practically buried in a book battered and nearly falling apart at the seams while the others carried on around him. Leaning forward on one arm, elbow rested against the tabletop as the sleeves of his shirt stretched out across his biceps, he moved an errant curl out of his eyes. (Their parents had been telling him for weeks he needed a haircut, but he’d yet to get one.)

When he looked up, impish grin making its way onto his face at the sight of her, she averted her gaze. Awkwardly clearing her throat, she turned back to Harper.

“Yeah,” she agreed weakly despite the protests rising within her, mouth suddenly feeling dry. “I guess you’re right.”

“He just likes to get under your skin, you know,” Harper told her as they took seats at their usual table.

Jasper, having heard the tail end of their conversation, chimed in with an intrigued, “Who are we talking about?”

“ _We_ , as in _Harper_ and _I_ were talking about him—no one else,” she provided, smiling weakly at the others as she situated herself on the strikingly uncomfortable seat before waving at Finn, who had apparently decided to join their lunch group as of today. It took her by surprise, seeing him sat across from her, but she couldn’t say she minded any. “And we were talking about Bellamy.”

“You’re always talking about him,” Monty teased.

“We get it, he’s the _worst,”_ Jasper continued, voice shrill in a weak attempt at sounding like her. The two laughed, high fiving themselves. Or, well, each other technically. She rolled her eyes.

“Maybe I should cut back on my complaints since they seem to bother you so much, then.” She twisted open the cap on her juice, setting it aside. “He’s just- he’s Bellamy, you know? He’s a pain in my ass.”

“What’s the deal with you two, anyway?” Finn spoke for the first time since he’d joined the table, and though she would’ve much rather changed the topic, she figured she should at least give him an explanation. She would want one, too. “I get your parents are married, but why don’t you get along?”

“Well,” Clarke took a breath, “I don’t know, really, we never have. He does things to make me mad, and I guess… I do things to him in return, to get a rise out of him, too.” Looking back on her time with him, she wasn’t sure why they were as antagonistic towards each other as they were, but it was how things had always been between them. She shrugged. “It’s just how we are.”

It was the best explanation she could give.

“You left out the part where he put gum in your hair in eighth grade after he found out your parents were getting married,” Harper muttered.

Monty covered his mouth with one hand in order to hide his smile, Clarke figured. He added, “And the part where you tried to trip him down the bleachers freshman year just for you to end up falling down with him.”

Finn laughed, and Clarke wished she could sink to the floor, feeling embarrassed. She should have known to change the subject. “Brutal, Clarke.”

Suddenly, a hand covered the top of her head, ruffling her hair enough to obscure her vision before she was able to react. “Yeah, my tailbone was bruised for weeks.” Bellamy sighed blissfully, as if reminiscing, his arm resting heavily on her shoulder. He was close enough she could smell his cologne, a musky scent that made her head spin, and if she turned, they’d by nose to cheek. “Then again, you had a nasty bruise on your leg, too.” He tsked, pulling out the empty chair next to hers. “Not your finest work, Clarke. Really.”

“Will you go away?”

“I’m trying to get to know your friends, Clarke. Can’t I be nice?”

“Not where I’m concerned.”

“Oh, come on.” He grabbed her container of pudding, raising an eyebrow when she looked at him, as if to ask whether he could have it. Begrudgingly, knowing he hadn’t eaten any food of his own, she nodded. “You playing basketball again this year, Jordan?” Jasper nodded, launching into some story about how he’d broken his arm playing basketball sophomore year, and Clarke couldn’t help but zone out, only able to focus on Bellamy sitting beside her.

_God, what was her problem?_

Across the table, Finn caught her eye, sending her a smile, a welcome distraction from her otherwise unwelcome thoughts. Her own, given in return, was fleeting as Bellamy reached over her, grabbing the spoon she’d used from where it sat in its spot on the tray.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he answered slowly, as though her question made little sense. “I needed something to eat with.” And when that smirk made its way onto his face, she almost couldn’t stand to be around him any longer.

“You’re ridiculous. Go bother Octavia.”

“You’re more fun to bother, though, why would I do that?”

Clarke spent the rest of lunch practically seething, Bellamy beside her, laughing along with her friends, and she was momentarily confused on how that made her feel before Finn called for her attention and she was quickly able to shake the thought.

He leaned across the table, head resting upon one hand. Clarke eyed Bellamy warily, hoping he wouldn’t interrupt, but he was too engrossed in a conversation with Monty to notice.  “I was, uh,” he paused, moving to rub his hands together. “Would you want to go-”

“Would I want to go…?” she urged, nerves thrumming with excitement. He shook his head, as if to shake away any negative thoughts before continuing. The others around them continued to converse with one another, and she hoped he would finish the question before they had the chance to get interrupted.

“Would you want to go to the movies this weekend?” He smiled, though it didn’t fully reach his eyes, and she knew it was because he was nervous, which was a good thing, in her case.

“As in a date?” She was nervous, too, could feel her heart beating heavy in her chest, but it was now or never—she didn’t want there being any misunderstandings, and really, she wanted him to know that she _wanted_ to date him, even if he wasn’t considering it a date when he asked. Bellamy turned to watch her, mouth falling open slightly before closing, turning into a tight line.

Clarke didn’t pay it any attention, rather, watching the way Finn grinned slowly before nodding. (The butterflies were back, stronger than they were before.) “Yeah,” he confirmed. “Like a date.”

Hesitantly, he reached a hand towards the middle of the table, and she easily covered it with one of her own.

“Good.”

The harsh sound of a chair scraping across the linoleum a few minutes later made her jump, and she looked up to see Bellamy standing suddenly. Before she had the chance to wonder why, he answered her question with a muttered, “I’m gonna go.” Giving an awkward half smile, he glanced over at her. “Are you riding home with me today?”

Clarke nodded, voicing a small, “Yeah.”

By the end of lunch, she and Finn had finalized their plans for Friday night. Clarke didn’t know what movie he‘d had in mind he asked her out, and she didn’t think he knew, either, but she was sure they’d figure it out. She was practically giddy with excitement, and when she told Harper while packing up her bookbag for the day, Harper simply told her, with a beaming smile, “I _knew_ it.” That wasn’t the end of her commentary, though. “What was up with Bellamy sitting with us today?”

“Beats me,” she tried to dismiss the subject. “He’s been trying harder than usual to get on my nerves, I think. You know how he is.”

“He wasn’t so bad today, though.”

“Exactly, he wants to look innocent.” She was exaggerating, but couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Whatever.” Harper shook her head, voice laced with light laughter. “See you tomorrow.”

“Later.”

The ride home was quiet mostly, Bellamy focused on the road while Octavia, sat between them, sang along to whatever came on the radio, albeit out of tune. Clarke tapped away on her phone, texting Finn something she’d seen online that reminded her of him, hoping he didn’t think it was too weird. At some point, she joined Octavia, and for once, Bellamy didn’t comment on either of their horrible singing.  Instead, when she glanced over, he looked relaxed, the dip between his brows not wrinkled in the way it normally was whenever he frowned.

But rather than his usual scowl, his lips were upturned slightly.

* * *

By the time Friday evening came around, Clarke was nervous, more than she had been before.

She tried not to be, tried not to overthink it, tried to relax, but no matter how hard she dis so, couldn’t help it. Her stomach felt sick, and her heart refused to calm down in spite of the careful breaths she had taken. She’d never been on a date. Well, not aside from once, when she had hung out at the local skating rink with a boy named Sterling from her seventh grade social studies class, but that didn’t count.

“Will you calm down?” Octavia complained from her perch on Clarke’s bed as she watched her go back and forth between whether she should put half of her hair up or wear it completely down. “Your hair looks fine, just leave it alone.”

“Yeah, exactly. _Fine_.” She ran a hand through her hair again, mussing it even further. “I need-”

“Bellamy!” Without her noticing, Octavia had opened the door leading to the bathroom she and Bellamy shared, and knowing his side would be open, too, had opted to shout for him. Clarke stilled, hairbrush halfway through her hair.

“Octavia, what are you _doing?”_ she hissed.

“We need a guy’s opinion.” At Clarke’s questioning look she widened her eyes as if to say, _duh._ “Wouldn’t you prefer to not look like a troll?”

“Whatever.” Clarke turned to face the mirror, blue eyes meeting a deep brown, widened in wondering, only seconds later. She could see him swallow, throat moving with it, barely noticeable in the grand scheme of things. But she’d noticed.

He turned away.

“What did you want?”

“Clarke needs your opinion,” Octavia explained.

Clarke could see the gears turning in his head, eyes narrowing at the implication. “So you’re saying Clarke needs my help, huh?” Octavia nodded.

“No, Clarke doesn’t.” She didn’t feel the need to face him, knowing if need be, he could see her reflection, as she continued untangling her hair. “You can go.”

“Come on, Clarke,” Bellamy started, walking towards her. “I’ll help,” he offered, but she knew it would come with a price. “You just have to say the word.”

Knowing he would leave if she insisted, but also realizing Octavia was _right,_ she let go of her remaining shred of dignity, closing her eyes momentarily and turning around. _“Please?”_ When he’d agreed, after more of her begging, Octavia continued for her.

“Clarke needs to know if her hair looks better pulled back or completely down,” she supplied before scolding him with, “Don’t lie just because you feel like being a jerk, either.”

Tongue skimming across his top lip, he nodded. She heard him clear his throat once before gesturing to her. Voice breaking slightly, “Show me what you’ve got.”

“Okay, uh,” she waved a hand towards her hair as it already was. “This is down, obviously.” It was hard, trying to not feel so awkward, and after a few moments, she succumbed to the feeling, accepting the fact that she didn’t ask for Bellamy’s opinion on much of anything, but much less on topics such as how she should wear her hair for a first date with a boy she liked. Everything about it was uncomfortable, and there was no possible way for her to _not_ feel as such. Judging by the way Bellamy continued to clear his throat, arms crossing and uncrossing as he shifted feet, he felt the same way.

“Yeah, um,” his voice was rough, in a way that would have elicited shivers down her spine had it been anyone else’s, she belatedly realized, and he stumbled over them, unsure of how to respond. “Wear it half up. You look… good,” he finished.

_Good._ Shivers _did_ make their way down her spine as the word left his mouth. Clarke tried to tell herself her skin was prickled, tinted pink solely because it was confirmation of what she’d wanted, that his words were a gateway to the night she’d hoped for. If she were to look she’d notice his own skin was flushed, but she didn’t dare, nor did she see how his eyes softened at her smile in response to his assurance. Octavia didn’t notice, either, too engrossed in the screen of her phone, and strangely, Clarke was glad.

“I’m gonna…”

She didn’t realize she hadn’t responded until he spoke again, head motioning to the open door. “Thanks,” Clarke rasped. Any other feasible response, though on the tip of her tongue, escaped her. He nodded, looking bashful, and before Octavia could question her about either Bellamy’s unusual behavior or her date with Finn, she went to the bathroom, hoping to regain some semblance of her sanity there considering it was otherwise nowhere else to be found.

When Finn texted her to let her know he’d be there shortly and she considered herself to look as decent ( _good_ _,_ her mind chanted) as she was feasibly able to, she went downstairs, stopping at the sight of Aurora and Bellamy on the couch discussing what she could only surmise was one of the cheesy soap operas they usually watched, and often argued over, together. “Where’s Dad?”

Aurora glanced away from Bellamy, whom she’d been nodding repeatedly at, sarcastically agreeing with something he’d said only in preparation of proving him wrong. Her eyes lit up at the sight of her, and Clarke shifted, rubbing a hand down her arm. “Oh, you look so beautiful.” she said, as if in awe, and Clarke resisted the urge to scoff, never openly able to accept a compliment. She watched as her stepmother nudged Bellamy’s shoulder, drawing his attention away from the drama unfolding on television, and Clarke avoided his gaze. “Doesn’t she look beautiful, Bellamy?”

Bellamy was silent, eyeing his mother with something like contempt. Hardly audible, “I guess.” Then, more confident, as Clarke finally took him in, “She does.”

“Your dad’s in the kitchen, by the way.”

“Thanks.” With one last look at Bellamy, so short-lived he likely hadn’t noticed, she sought out her dad, finding him sat at the island in the middle of the room, iPad in front of him. He looked to be deep in thought, and she would have otherwise felt bad about interrupting him, but she was about to leave and wanted to at least see him for a moment before doing so.

“Hey kiddo.” The glasses perched on the bridge of his nose had begun to slip steadily downwards, and he lifted them off and onto the counter at the sight of her. “You leaving?”

“Yeah, in a minute. I feel like I haven’t seen you much lately,” she lamented. He hummed in agreement, and Clarke fiddled with the silver bracelet on her wrist he had gotten her for her 13th birthday, the same year they’d merged with the Blakes. At the time, she figured it had been a bribe, an apology of sorts, but she eventually realized it wasn’t—he’d just wanted to get her something he figured she’d like, and since she’d gotten it, it hardly ever left her wrist.

When her phone began vibrating  from where it sat in her pocket, she hugged her dad goodbye and told him she’d be home by curfew, and when Aurora came into the kitchen as she was walking out, she smiled and told her the same. Bellamy was standing in the doorway, and when he remarked, “Your prince awaits,” while gesturing to the front of the house, she wordlessly shoved past him, her shoulder brushing against his arm.

She glanced up at him, but his stare was fixated on the floor.

In a matter of days, Bellamy had went from endlessly taunting her to hardly being able to look at her, the space between them suddenly uncomfortable, and the transition had been almost seamless. She shouldn’t have minded, should have been glad if anything, and yet- hardly able to admit the fact even to herself- she missed it.

“These are for you.” Finn smiled, holding out a bouquet of flowers as she opened the car door. Subjectively speaking, they were beautiful, and they smelled sweet, but not overwhelmingly so. Clarke had never been a fan of receiving flowers as a gift, had never understood it, really. _They would die in a matter of days, weeks, and then what was there to show?_

It was thoughtful, though, and despite not being a fan of flowers in general, receiving them from him was enough to make her smile. She shifted nervously in her seat, kindly telling him, “Thank you,” and watching as he relaxed, his own grin growing even brighter.

When they found a spot to park once arriving at the movie theater, Finn was sure to get out of the car first, making his way around to open the door for her. They held hands, and Clarke prayed hers didn’t feel as damp as she figured it did, otherwise she would have been embarrassed. She paid for the tickets, stumbling over the name of the movie in spite of its simplicity, and when the man working the booth told her to enjoy the movie, she thoughtlessly told him to enjoy it, too, and wished she could have hid her face afterwards.

Finn paid for the popcorn and drinks, what Clarke deemed a necessity despite the prices, and when she explained the whole ordeal, he merely laughed, looping an arm around her shoulders. “You look good, by the way,” he complimented, and in the back of her mind, she could hear the echo of Bellamy’s words from earlier.

_You look… good._

“Thanks,” she said, voice weaker than she’d intended.

When they finally found their seats in the back of the theater, the lights were already beginning to dim, signaling the start of the previews. She sighed in relief, pushing any lingering thoughts of Bellamy away as she leaned against Finn, the feel of him touching her, even through several layers of clothing, enough to make her feel warm in the otherwise chilly room.

It wasn’t hard to focus on the movie once it started, though some scenes certainly had the ability to make her cringe. During those, she half-wished she hadn’t been able to so easily engross herself in the fantasy of it all. Halfway through, during a scene she wasn’t finding as interesting as most others, Finn’s phone began to buzz. (Apparently he wasn’t the type of person to turn their phone completely off). She turned to look at him, and he grimaced, reaching into his pocket for it.

“Do you need to take it?” she asked, crossing her legs in an effort to resituate herself. Unlike the theater she preferred to use, a much larger scale one a town over, the theater they were at didn’t have very comfortable seats. Finn looked up at her from where he was bent over the offending object, trying to shield the light it was omitting, but he just shook his head.

“No,” he assured her, slipping it into his pocket again before putting an arm around her shoulders. She frowned for a moment, but shrugged off whatever doubt she was feeling, deciding it was unnecessary. “My attention’s all on you.”

“Well, it _should_ be on the movie unless you’d rather be confused for the rest of it,” Clarke said, joking, which elicited a short laugh from him. A lady sitting a few seats down had eyed them repeatedly within the past few minutes, stern look on her face, and Clarke decided that maybe paying attention to the movie again wasn’t actually such a bad idea.

After the movie, they went to dinner at a local restaurant which doubled both as a restaurant _and_ an arcade, and though it was filled to the brim with children running around, Clarke had fun. They mostly discussed the movie while eating (Clarke decided she wasn’t a fan of open endings, while Finn admired the idea of drawing a conclusion on his own), and at one point he excused himself to make a phone call, but afterwards, he insisted on trying to win her a stuffed animal from one of the claw machines. Though he spent too much money in doing so, failing so many times she couldn’t possibly count, he eventually succeeded, beaming triumphantly as he handed her her the whimsical looking cheetah.

Finn’s excitement gave her the courage to lean up and kiss him on the cheek, and Clarke couldn’t help but think that perhaps she was the winner instead.

“Thank you for tonight,” Clarke said as they pulled onto her road, the familiar brick of her house coming into view.

“Especially for the cheetah, right?” He parked in the driveway behind Bellamy’s truck, leaning back in his seat as he turned the car off. Clarke laughed, finger tracing the design on the plush of the animal, lingering on the gold threaded throughout it.

“Especially that,” she agreed, pivoting around to face him fully. “I had fun.”

He reached out tentatively to brush away a curl that had fallen out of place, and when his hand moved to cradle her face, thumb only just brushing against her jaw, she leaned into his touch. “Me too.” He was quiet for a moment, looking as if he were considering something before he said, quiet yet unbearably loud in the otherwise silent space, “Clarke?”

She swallowed, her stomach feeling as though it were twisting itself into knots. Just as quiet as his question had been, “Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Unable to bring herself to speak for fear of what she might sound like if she did, a lump in her throat making itself known, she nodded. He nodded in return, a soft, barely there smile gracing his lips. She was nervous, but knew that it would be okay, that she was making a bigger deal out of it than it really was. 

It felt like time was moving too slow in the moments between the one in which he started to lean forward and the one where his lips finally brushed against hers, but she suddenly didn’t mind the wait once they had. He kissed her gently, free hand coming to hold the back of her head,  lips soft and warm against her own, and she sighed into it. She wasn’t sure she wanted it to end-  _knew_ she didn’t want it to end- and when he kissed her again, his tongue brushed against her bottom lip before meeting her own.

He made a sound she could only consider a moan, low and deep. She briefly wondered if he was trying to choke her, whether this was how people usually kissed, or whether she was the one doing it wrong, and perhaps it was a combination of two out of the three, but she didn’t like it; didn’t like his relentlessness, the way his mouth had become almost rough against hers. It was okay, though, she figured she could  get used to it (probably), her arms easily wrapping around his neck.

When he began to kiss her gently again, almost chaste, she was glad, and kissed him back just as sweet, trying her best not to smile too big. Clarke leaned her forehead against his as they pulled apart, quickly kissing him one last time. His fingers traced against her cheek, and her eyes began slipping in response. She knew that, if there were enough light, he’d be able to see how flushed her cheeks were, and could feel the heat trailing all the way down her neck, too.

Finn was the first to speak.

“I like you, Clarke.”

_He liked her? He liked her._ She felt silly, an excitement similar to that which she used to feel on Christmas, or on hot summer days when she’d hear the music of an ice cream truck drawing near. Her response was easy, something she didn’t have to extensively think through for what seemed to be the first time of the night.

“I like you, too.” He kissed her again, longer than their previous yet chaste in comparison to their first, before she realized it would probably be best to go inside.

She stood on the porch, watching as he drove away, and was unable to keep the smile off her face, feeling elated in a way she never had as she unlocked the door and stepped into the house.

“I’m home,” she said, loud enough anyone on the first floor could hear. Light seeped into the hallway from the living room, and as her gaze caught on the clock on the wall, just barely illuminated enough to make out the numbers, she realized it was past curfew. _Great._

Though expecting either her dad or Aurora to be the one in the living room, she was sorely mistaken. Bellamy sat on the couch, the glasses he wore- only on weekends, when he deemed himself too lazy to put in his contacts- askew as he looked down at the laptop propped up on his lap, feet rested on the table in front of him. He looked… comfortable, relaxed in a way she didn’t see often—likely because he rarely was. But the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw ticked as he heard her footsteps approach told her otherwise.

“Have fun?” he said, not bothering to look up at her. She hoped the blush adorning her cheeks and neck weren’t visible, even if he wasn’t paying attention.

“Do you actually care whether I had fun or not?” Clarke asked, paying attention to how he seemed to stop what he’d been doing. He still didn’t look at her, though. “But for the record, I did.”

“Does it matter? I asked anyway.” He closed the laptop and put it aside before crossing his arms, finally deciding to turn his attention to her. She didn’t like the way it felt, being under his gaze. It was enough to make her feel like squirming, and she focused in on the buckle on the strap of her purse rather than meeting his eyes. “And for the record,” he mocked her, “it _must_ have been fun, since you were out past curfew.”

“Should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to let that go.”

“No,” he said. “I’m not. It was irresponsible.”

She scoffed. “Oh, please.”

“It _was._ You should know better than that, Clarke, something could have happened to you. Don’t you realize that? And if you-”

“Fuck off, Bellamy.” He looked taken aback, eyes widening slightly at her words. It gave her a hint of satisfaction. “You’re not my dad, don’t lecture me like you are.”

“Sorry for being concerned, I guess,” he muttered, trying to shove past her. She grabbed his arm, and though not without struggle, tried her best to force him into looking at her again. He did, just barely.

“Spare me. You don’t care about my safety—all you care about is this fucked up power trip of yours.” The flush that had been on her skin as a result of happiness had morphed into a tinge from anger. In all the years that she’d known him, Bellamy had done little to nothing in showing that he cared for her, which was how she knew whatever he was saying now wasn’t genuine. It couldn’t be, the past five years had shown her that much. “Admit it.”

He let out a breath, shaking his head, as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying.

“Fuck you, Clarke.”

“Why?” She urged him on. “Too ashamed to admit it, that you care about having power more than you care about me?”

“Clarke… you’re my- you’re my step-sister,” he said the word through clenched teeth. “Do you really think I don’t care about you?”

“Yeah,” she regretted it as soon as she said it, wishing that his words were true. Wishing their relationship was easy enough she could believe him, but it wasn’t. She couldn’t. “I do.”

He didn’t say anything for long enough she wondered if he’d even heard her, but when he did, his words were melancholy, verging on ashamed—regretful. “I guess you don’t know me very well then, do you?”

“Apparently not.”

And, perhaps five years too late, she realized that she _didn’t_ know him, not aside from the facts he allowed her to know, that he allowed everyone else in to see, too. She only knew the person she saw on the surface, the one who used to pull her ponytail enough she avoided wearing her hair up too often, the same one who hated pulp in his orange juice and always got a little too excited when it came to discussing historical events. The same one who loved children and cared so immensely for his mother and Octavia that Clarke wondered how his heart didn’t burst with it.

She knew Bellamy Blake, but she didn’t _know_ him.

She didn’t know his favorite color, had never taken the time to ask. She didn’t know what season he liked best or whether he was one of those people who could stand to sleep in socks, didn’t even know his favorite food. He didn’t know her, either, and though they may have been trivial facts, to her, they seemed monumental.

He watched her for another few silent moments, and after pursing his lips as if thinking about speaking again but choosing not to say anything, headed to his room. She didn’t know whether she was annoyed that the conversation was over or grateful for his leaving.

Despite Bellamy scolding her for it, Jake and Aurora didn’t have much to say about Clarke breaking curfew. She’d done so by less than a fifteen minute margin, and though they would have preferred for her to be home in time, after her apology for doing so, they settled on giving her a warning. She’d expected at least a few days of having to do the dishes, or worse, taking out the trash, and was grateful for their leniency. 

On the way to her room, while half-attempting to take the bobby pins out of her hair, she couldn’t help but glance into Bellamy’s room out of sudden curiosity, if only to see what he was up to. She didn’t go in, could count on one hand the number of times she’d fully been into his room over the years, and didn’t try to make her presence known. He was using his laptop still, earphones in his ears either silent or playing music low enough she couldn’t hear.

It was interesting, watching him when he wasn’t aware of it. He seemed… softer, somehow, and it made her chest ache with longing.  She didn’t know him, no, but looking at him, so out of touch with the world around him then, hair falling into his face—she _wanted_ to.

“Bellamy,” Clarke said, unsure, and she half regretted it as he tensed with the knowledge that she was there. Truthfully, she didn’t know what she was planning on saying next, but she felt the need to call out to him.

“Are you planning on saying anything else or are we both just agreeing on that being my name?” She swallowed, finding it hard to look at him directly.

“You were right earlier. I don’t know you,” she paused, expecting him to interrupt. When he didn’t, she continued, “But you don’t know me, either, and that’s- We’ve lived together for five years, we _should_ know each other.” Then, much softer, unsure of how he’d react, “You’re a pain in my ass, but for some reason I can’t explain, I _want_ to know you.”

He was quiet, and her hands fisted at her sides in uncertainty. When the silence continued on for what felt like a number of minutes, she figured he wasn’t intent on replying. _She’d made a fool of herself in front of him for nothing._ “Forget it,” she sighed, turning to go.

Before she could, his words stopped her. They were quiet, even more so than hers had been, as if he were afraid to say them. “I’d like to know you, too.”

And though they filled her with an inexplicable hope, and she felt as though she could ask him a million different questions, she merely replied, “Okay,” unable to contain her smile.

“Okay.”

They came to a sort of… unspoken agreement, after that.

Things weren’t perfect, and they still argued just as much as they had before, but when she spoke, she felt like he was listening. He still taunted her on the way to school with his music, and left the cap off of the toothpaste knowing it would make her mad, and in exchange, she left her shoes wherever she took them off at solely because he complained about it.

But in the quiet of the nights, one stood in the doorway of the other’s room, never fully inside, they whispered questions of wondering to each other, and gave answers in return.

“What’s your favorite color?” she said, the first night it happened.

He didn’t hesitate to answer, “Blue, but not a deep blue; soft, almost gray.”

“Why?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly before telling her, “I don’t know, it… makes me feel nice, I guess. Happy.”

“Good answer,” she said.

He smiled bashfully in response, and her heart ran rampant.

* * *

While her relationship with Bellamy began to change, so did her relationship with Finn.

She continued getting to know him, and after another date- one to a dodgy pizzeria on the other side of town- and another handful of kisses (Which she still wasn’t too sure about), he asked her to be his girlfriend.

“I’d be honored,” she told him jokingly, holding a hand to her chest. He only laughed, leaning in to kiss her. It was kept chaste, sweet. Appropriate for the public eye. Once they pulled apart, she intertwined their fingers. It wasn’t love, not yet, but she figured that one day it could be.

Her dad insisted on inviting him over for dinner the next night, and despite the short notice, he agreed to come.

“Where did you say you moved from?” Aurora asked once they’d all settled in at the table.

“Oh,” Finn cleared his throat before telling her the name of the town, adding, “It’s right outside of Cincinnati.”

Clarke chanced a glance over at Bellamy, who had been strangely quiet since Finn arrived. Now, he was focused intensely on his plate, fingers of one hand tracing the wood markings on the table. She furrowed her brow, watching him, hoping he would look at her.

“I think I have a cousin that lives right around that area.” Rather than listening to her boyfriend and step-mother ramble on, unable to focus on words she simply couldn’t bring herself to care about, she slouched down in her seat, barely noticeable, and used the tip of her shoe to kick Bellamy in the shin. He paused the scraping of his fork across the plate, looking up with a scowl on his face.

“What was that for?” He blurted, causing the others to stop their conversation. After, he at least had the decency to look _somewhat_ bashful. Clarke leaned against her hand to hide a smile.

“You just looked a little out of it,” she shrugged. “Figured I’d try and get your attention.”

“You did look out of it,” Octavia said, teasing. He rolled his eyes before looking over at Finn, who was watching with a confused expression etched into his features.

“Whatever, Clarke. Sorry I’m not a fan of small talk.”

“Hey, there’s no need to get mad just because I was worried that you looked out of it, Jerk.” Bellamy scoffed.

“ _Worried?”_

“Okay,” her dad interjected, a peacekeeper at heart. She knew it was coming sooner or later. It wasn’t often either Aurora or Jake interfered in arguments between the two, but they drew the line when it came to arguing at the dinner table, God knows why. “We have company, let’s not scare him away.”

Clarke could hear Bellamy mutter, “Why not?” before taking a drink from his glass, and resisted the urge to kick him again, albeit maliciously this time.

“When’s your art show again, Clarke?” Jake asked, turning his attention away from Bellamy on the other side of the table. “I need to make sure I have that day off work.”

“Um,” Clarke felt someone’s foot nudge hers lightly, a barely there tap that caused her to lose focus of what she planned to say next. Upon glancing up, it was no secret who it had been—although focused on his own conversation with Octavia, Bellamy’s lips were twisted into a smirk, and when his attention moved to Clarke, it only widened. He tried to lessen it, looking down at the table, but was unable to. She cleared her throat. “It’s the twentieth, a Saturday. You usually don’t work that day, anyway.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were doing the art show?” Finn asked, speaking for the first time since her debacle with Bellamy.

“Oh.” Trying not to make it too obvious, Clarke reached out to brush Bellamy’s foot with hers, missing just barely. She ran her foot down his leg, stopping when she could feel the side of his own. He stilled, and as she spoke, she could feel his eyes on her. “I didn’t think about it, I guess. It didn’t come up.”

“Well, don’t worry,” Finn insisted, taking her hand in his, though only long enough to give it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be there.”

Aurora added, kindly, “We should all go out to dinner that night. You too, Finn.”

“I’d like that, thank you.” He smiled. Clarke did, too, nodding in agreement.

Bellamy chose that moment to run his foot up her leg as she had his, and she suppressed a shiver in response. When she tried to return the sentiment, angling her foot slightly to the right this time, and he didn’t respond, she frowned. _Was he done?_

“Whoever’s trying to play footsie under the table, I’m not interested,” Octavia deadpanned, frowning down at her phone. “Whose foot were you reaching for, anyway?”

Panic coursed through Clarke’s veins. Rather than looking at Bellamy the way she wanted to, the way her mind was telling her to in knowing that she’d find him just as panicked as her, despite the fact that they’d done nothing wrong, she reached for her fork and leaned closer to her boyfriend. “I was aiming for Finn, sorry,” she muttered, smiling wryly as she took in the others’ expressions, her dad and Aurora simply laughing off the entire ordeal and going back to their previous conversation.

Naturally, her eyes rose to look at Finn as he laughed, pulling her closer to him. “I think your aim’s a little off.”

Clarke startled at the sound of a fork dropping loudly onto the glass of a plate, the sound of a chair scraping against the hardwood of the floor ricocheting off the walls. She swallowed and her eyes, as if of their own accord, were drawn to Bellamy. The tension in his jaw was apparent, and he gripped the plate in his hand tightly enough she wondered how he didn’t break it.

“I’m done,” he uttered, voice hardly loud enough to hear, before asking, “May I be excused?” although he seemed to have already deemed himself excused. Her dad noticed as much.

“Looks like you’ve already excused yourself, Son. Go ahead,” he said, dismissive.

Bellamy left without another word, not so much as a glance in her direction, and though she knew he would pull away from her again eventually, she didn’t expect it to be so soon. Sure, they still fought as much as they had before this… _truce,_ of sorts, but she’d thought they were making progress.

Maybe she’d been mistaken.

With them, it was always one step forward, a dozen steps back—she shouldn’t have hoped for anything different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY MUNA <3


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke had always enjoyed being able to fully focus on a piece of art,  as if she and the half-finished canvas in front of her were the only two elements in existence.

She hadn’t been able to throw herself completely into her work for a long while, and though she’d missed it, she’d forgotten how much time and work were needed to finish a piece—especially one others would see, one they would be able to look at and would judge, regardless of how much careful thought and effort she put into it. It was a hobby, something she had always found comfort in, and she considered it private; allowing other people to see her work was allowing them to see further into  _her-_ who she was- and she couldn’t help but worry. W _hat if they didn’t like it?_

As she made strokes against the canvas, soft pinks and yellows contradicted with the involvement of dark greens and browns, the outline of a tree appeared in front of her. It wasn’t finished, no, but she had a week before it needed to be submitted, and she figured that was plenty of time to be able to make it look presentable. She contemplated adding colors in the background in order to make the object seem brighter, but she was stuck on the idea of holding onto the picture’s simplicity when a knock near the door interrupted her.

She should have known leaving the door open would be a mistake. Setting the brush down against the old sheet she had on the floor in case of any accidental messes (which she wasn’t ashamed to admit she made almost every time, sue her), she twisted around to see who it was. “What do you want?” She asked, voice colder than she’d intended.

Clarke still didn’t understand why Bellamy acted the way he had at dinner a few weeks ago, and he didn’t seem intent on telling her, regardless of how many times she’d insisted he do so.

“Do you have my phone charger?”

She rolled her eyes, running the hand not covered in paint through her hair. “Why would I have your phone charger?” He shrugged, aloof. “I have my own, I don’t need to take yours.” Figuring that was the end of the conversation, she turned back to the canvas in front of her, but he didn’t seem to be intent on leaving her alone. Instead, he cautiously took a step further into her room.

“Can I-“ he started, tucking his hands into the pockets of the sweatpants he wore.

“Can you…?”

“Forget it,” he waved it off, making a move to leave.

_Yet, she found she didn’t want him to._

“You don’t have to leave if you don’t want,” she muttered, picking up a different brush. “Just… You can sit in the chair over there, or something.” It took too much of an effort to make it seem like she was uninterested, like she was letting him stay out of pity. She tried not to think about it, nipping at the end of her finger out of habit as she thought about what to do next, instead.

She could hear his footsteps as he took perch on the chair in the corner, but she didn’t bother looking. He cursed as he sat down, the chair probably threatening to give way in the manner it usually did when someone weighing more than that of an average toddler tried to sit in it. It was old, a chair her parents had gotten when she was a baby, but she liked it, and simply couldn't bring herself to get rid of it.

“Why’d you ask me to stay?” he said, after a few minutes of silence. Knowing he was in the room, watching her, Clarke couldn’t focus. All she’d accomplished was brushing another layer of paint over one of the flowers budding in the corner of the tree.

“Why did you plan on asking if you could stay?” she countered, not knowing the answer to his question. Bellamy was silent, and she could feel his eyes on the back of her head, watching as she dipped the brush into the paint on the floor in front of her.  When he answered, “I don’t know,” sounding wistful, she figured, perhaps she wasn’t alone in being unsure of what lay between them.

“Neither do I.”

Her phone buzzed against the wood of her nightstand and she reached up to grab it, smiling as she read the text from Finn. He was away for the weekend, taking time to visit his hometown. Clarke thought it was sweet, that he was trying to keep in touch with the people he grew up around. Most people wouldn’t do the same, and meanwhile, he had been texting her almost nonstop, constantly asking for updates on the progress she was making. She’d been short with him, mostly due to her trying to concentrate, and meanwhile, Bellamy was sitting in her room being just as much of a distraction. Struck with an idea, she asked, “Hey, would you care to take a picture of me with this,” she gestured to the painting, “so I can send it to Finn?”

Bellamy hesitated, looking unsure, and she was tempted to tell him to forget about it. Before she could, though, he shrugged, reaching his hand out for the phone.

“Move a little closer,” he said, then, “Don’t put your hair behind your ear.” Clarke sighed, but moved her hair onto her shoulder, untucking it as he'd instructed. She posed, smiling while pointing to the semi-finished painting, and was blinded momentarily by the flash from the camera only seconds later. Shaking her head, she blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the stars lingering behind her eyes from the light. When they finally receded, she focused on Bellamy, looking at the screen of her phone. His smile was soft, admiring, and something within her fluttered at the sight. “Bellamy?”

Clarke stood from her spot on the floor, moving to lean over his shoulder so she could see. (She just hoped he hadn’t drawn a mustache on her face with the doodle feature, really). The heat emanating from his body made her feel warm, much more than she had prior, and she stepped away. “Did it come out okay?” she whispered, and he turned his head to look at her, the space between them not nearly enough. He nodded.

“Yeah.” She could see him swallow. “It turned out good.”

_It did._

Inspecting the picture, she looked… genuinely happy. “Thanks,” she told Bellamy, gingerly taking her phone back from him. Though she wanted to continue looking at it, she closed the app, finding her messages. Within a few seconds, she sent the photo to Finn, captioning it with a few emojis for added effect.

When Bellamy didn’t say anything else, she looked back at the painting, sighing heavily. It looked nice, she supposed, but it wasn’t turning out how she imagined.  _Maybe she should start over._

“What’s wrong?”

“Maybe I should just restart,” she reasoned, not feeling the need to lie to him. “It isn’t turning out how it was supposed to, and I don’t- I  _really_ don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of everyone.” Quiet, Clarke added, “In front of my mom.”

She could feel him move closer to her, and crossed her arms over her chest, as if to protect herself—though, of what, she didn’t know. Being vulnerable in front of him was new, unheard of, but it didn’t scare her. Even when he was being an asshole, Bellamy wasn't a bad person. She knew that. She knew she could trust him, in some sense, that he wouldn’t judge her (unless said judgement had to do with either Finn, her safety, or his own well-being in terms of parental judgement). It was a big deal, yes, but it didn’t scare her.

Clarke wasn’t sure when, but somewhere along the line, between him being nothing but a nuisance and becoming her kind-of-friend, she began to trust Bellamy.

“Your mom?” He asked, likely hoping for an elaboration, and she could hear the hesitance, the uncertainty in his voice.

She didn’t talk about her mom much. Didn’t see her very much, either, but when she did, it was usually to do with holidays, birthdays, or other special occasions. The last time she saw her, talked to her for more than a few minutes, was when Clarke was inducted into her school’s honor society. Naturally, her mom had made a big deal of it. After all, Abby had always been obsessive when it came to appearances. 

_Save for cheating on and divorcing her husband, leaving her daughter, and hiding a drug addiction, of course._

Clarke loved her, but she hadn’t had much of a relationship with her since she was a child, and hearing her mother’s excitement, the assurance that she would be there upon Clarke mentioning her art show in a brief phone call- despite knowing that she shouldn’t care- made her overcome with the desire to make her proud. It seemed it would be one of her only chances to do so.

Though her mom had been a disappointment to her thus far, she hated the idea of returning the favor, of being a disappointment herself.

“She said she wanted to come.” Clarke shrugged, smiling sadly over at Bellamy. “I don’t want it to be for nothing.”

_“Clarke,_ itwon’t be for nothing,” he assured her, hand lifting as if he wanted to touch her before he put it back at his side, as though he'd thought better of it. “She’ll be proud of you.”

“I don’t know. It’s stupid,” she paused, looking down at the carpet, the paint scattered about throughout her room. “She doesn’t come around much, so when she does, I like to make her proud. Maybe it’s part of some sort of superiority complex I have, but I want to show her what she’s missing out on, you know?” Clarke’s eyes started to water, and she felt foolish for it. She really didn’t feel like crying in front of Bellamy, either. “I guess I think that, maybe, if I do something good enough, she won’t be such a stranger. She’ll actually feel like I’m worthy of being around, or something.”  

Bellamy stayed silent throughout her confession, a comforting presence at her side, and when she felt his hand on her shoulder, heavy, bringing solace, she leaned into it. It was strange, him being able to provide her comfort rather than his presence alone tempting her to pull her hair out. Regardless, though, it was _nice._ When Bellamy was around, she didn’t feel so lonely.

“It’s not stupid,” he assured her, and yet it didn’t relieve her worries, didn’t make her feel any better. Gently, she covered his hand with her own. “You have the right to feel that way, Clarke. It’s not stupid.”

Unsure, she looked over at him. “Are you sure?”

“Completely.” He smiled, nudging her slightly. She sniffed, wiping beneath her eyes, and nudged him back.

It didn’t completely ease her worries, or wash away that fear, but she felt better.

“Thank you.” Clarke leaned into his side, the worry that he might reject her burrowing itself deep into her chest no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. Bellamy froze, and when he moved the arm nearest to her she thought he might push her away, but he didn’t. His arm came to rest on her shoulder, pulling her further into him, and in relief, her own arm wrapped around his back.

“You know,” she whispered, hoping to ease the tension shrouding the air around them. “Maybe you’re not such a bad guy after all.”

“Just wait, you won’t believe that forever,” he said, joking, and she laughed, watching as his face lit up in response. He didn’t take compliments easily, she’d noticed, opting to joke his way out of them or deny them altogether, but she didn’t plan on letting him do that with her.

“I will, though,” she whispered, leaning closer to him. “You’re an ass sometimes, but you’re not a bad guy, Bellamy. You never have been.”

He squeezed her arm, silent, before muttering a quiet, “Thanks.”

It filled her with something akin to hope.

Despite the ways in which she tried to keep herself calm, Clarke wasn’t a person able to easily be soothed. Her dad and Aurora told her she would end up worrying herself sick over her impending school assignments on an almost a weekly basis, and she couldn’t begin to count the number of times she’d heard the words from them over the past few days.

“I just don’t know if I’ll be able to finish in time,” she said, leaning her head back against a locker near Finn’s as he rummaged through his own. “Even if I do, what if it turns out awful? There are so many people coming, and I don’t think making a fool of myself sounds particularly fun.”

Finn hummed in response while she sounded on the verge of a breakdown, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he even  _cared._ He was her boyfriend, she was sure he did. He constantly called her to check on her progress, and when they weren't talking on the phone, he'd occasionally send her hearts and smiley faces in encouragement. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have done anything of the sort. Clarke figured perhaps he wasn’t good at emotional support.

“You’re coming, my entire family’s coming, my mom and her husband are supposed to come, and I just don’t want all of it to be for nothing.” At his silence, Clarke continued, skeptically, “You  _can_ still come, right?”

Finn nodded, reaching out to take her hand. “I wouldn’t miss it,” he reassured her, and that soothed at least one of her worries. “I know how you feel, though, I have this huge test coming up in calculus, and I really don’t wanna bring a bad grade home to my parents.”

Clarke sighed, trying not to feel frustrated with his weak comparison between the two, how he had so easily shifted the focus of the conversation to himself. “Yeah,” she agreed. “I’m glad you get it, at least.” She tried her best to force a smile, but figured it more closely resembled a grimace. He didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, he didn’t mention it.

Her eyes drifted over his shoulder to find Bellamy, nodding as Nathan Miller gestured wildly in conversation. Bellamy would comfort her, if she voiced her worries to him. He already _had._ She considered the idea of going over to talk to him, telling Finn she needed to ask him a family-related question since it was unusual for the two of them to interact at school otherwise. Bellamy lifted his head, nodding at Miller for another moment before his eyes met hers, kind, worried, _beautiful,_ even with the distance between them. He raised an eyebrow, head tilting to the side.  _His way of asking if she was okay._

Automatically, her lips tilted up into a smile, and she nodded once.  _I’m okay,_ and though it wasn’t entirely true, he didn’t need to know that. She wasn’t keen on worrying him, being bombarded with questions when they met in the hall at the end of the day to walk to his truck. He returned the gesture, startling visibly as he realized Miller was talking to him still. Clarke stifled a laugh, turning back to Finn.

She hadn’t thought there would ever be day where she’d rather be talking to Bellamy instead.

“What time should I be ready Saturday?” Finn asked as they started to walk towards the cafeteria. It was good, that he was trying to support her—she was glad. Yet she still found herself glancing over her shoulder to look at Bellamy, and it made her feel uneasy for reasons she couldn’t seem to find.

“Uh,” she stuttered, shaking her head. “It starts at 6, so just be ready in time to be there, I guess.”

Unable to help herself, before they turned around the corner, she glanced over her shoulder again, only to find that Bellamy was already looking in her direction. Regardless of the unspoken rule between them dictating that they couldn’t interact with one another (aside from classes they were stuck together in), she raised her hand to wave.

Unexpectedly, he grinned and raised a hand to wave back, causing a stutter within her heart.

Despite Finn’s rambling about what he needed to wear, whether an old suit from junior prom would work, her mind faded into brown eyes and a half-finished canvas.

* * *

_(Clarke finished her painting mid-week, Bellamy sitting on the tattered chair in the corner of her room yet again as he had each day since the first, muttering quiet encouragements. She found the canvas was much more colorful than she’d originally imagined, and figured that maybe him being there had something to do with it.)_

* * *

The rest of the week went by both painfully slow and all too fast, days dragging by individually yet flying by all together.

“Clarke.” Bellamy nudged her leg with his hand once, then again when she didn’t respond, trying to cling to what little sleep she felt was still within reach. His skin was warm against hers, her room freezing as it usually was in the mornings. “Clarke,” he said again, albeit louder. “Breakfast is ready. You need to get up, unless you’d rather me drag you downstairs.”

She turned her head over, hiding her smile against the fabric of her blanket. “I’m not opposed to the second option,” she mumbled, listening for his laugh in response. “It’s too cold.”

“Put a jacket on and quit complaining, then.” He lifted her blanket, and she sat up quickly, pulling it back down. “It’s  _your_  day, Clarke, you actually have the right to act like the Princess you are for once.” He smirked, grin falling as he sat on the edge of her bed, turning his body toward her. He was stiff, too hesitant in his movements, but she couldn’t blame him. Truth be told, he was probably waiting to see if she’d kick him into the floor.

_“My day,”_  she huffed, sarcastic. “It’s an art show, it’s not a big deal.”

“It  _is_ a big deal. You’ve worked hard, Clarke, accept the praise you deserve for once in your life.” He squeezed her leg, and she braced herself for the tickling she assumed would come, only for him to leave his hand where it lay originally. She suppressed a shudder, lying down again and curling into herself, body turned so she could still see him.

“That’s rich, coming from Mr. I-Don’t-Know-How-to-Take-the-Smallest-of-Compliments.”

“Funny,” he deadpanned, standing up and stretching before reaching a hand out to her. “Come on, let’s go eat before Octavia gets ahold of the last of the strawberry jam.”

Smiling, she grabbed her phone, and with her free hand, she interlaced their fingers, allowing him to help her up. It wasn’t a difficult decision.

Once settled into her usual seat at the end of the table, Bellamy on one side and Octavia on the other, she found she wasn’t all that hungry. Her mind was stuck on the thought of tonight _,_ of seeing her mother, of Finn seeing her work for the first time. Scrolling through her texts, her mom’s name at the bottom of the list, she briefly wondered if she should message her. She hadn’t talked to her since the day she confirmed she’d be there, and she wanted to let her know how excited she was to see her, as pathetic as it may have seemed.

Not bothering to remove the spoon in her mouth, she tapped on the conversation with her mom that hadn’t been touched in months, typing out a quick,  _Hey Mom! Can’t wait to see you tonight, I hope you can still make it. Love you!_ Yet, as her eyes caught on all the previously read messages sitting without responses, she couldn’t bring herself to hit send.

_(Merry Christmas Mom! Call me later if you want, whenever you get the chance. Love you_

_Found an old picture of us today, thought you might like to see it. Love you!_

_Happy birthday!!! What are you now, 29? Hope you’ve had a good day, I love you!_

_Called you earlier but you didn’t pick up, call me back when you get the chance please.)_

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, blurring the screen in front of her. Blinking them away, she closed the app, locking her phone.

“Is Abby still coming?” Her dad asked, likely knowing what she’d been looking at. She could feel Bellamy tense beside her, and cleared her throat.

“I think so,” she nodded, forcing a smile onto her face in what she hoped was a convincing manner. “Last time I talked to her, she said she’d be there.”

“That’s good, Honey,” Aurora said, setting her plate aside. “She’ll be so proud of you.”

“I hope so.”

Octavia was too invested in her phone to add to the conversation, so she simply nodded, and Clarke looked over at Bellamy, hoping for a reassurance, if anything. She felt the familiar weight of his foot nudging hers and sighed as he whispered a confident, “She will be.”

Clarke found that, although they helped in the moment, his reassurances did little to soothe her racing mind. She looked down at her phone again, unlocking it to view the unsent text. Her eyes blurred as they skimmed over the words, and though a part of herself said to hit send, to be brave, she couldn’t do it. Intead, she watched as the words changed into a blank box, and set her phone aside.

Moments later, as she scraped her fork against the ceramic plate, she felt something cold, wet, splash against her arm, causing her to jump. Sighing, she looked over at Bellamy, grinning so wide she wasn’t sure how it didn’t split his face in half.

“Figured you might need a little something to wake you up,” he shrugged, and whereas she would’ve dumped her own cup of orange juice over his head a mere few weeks ago, she knew the grin he wore now was different from his taunting smirk from then.

_He wanted to make her smile,_ and it worked, though she didn’t try too hard to prevent it in the first place.

She wished she could save the laugh he gave as she flicked a half-eaten strawberry his way, and the thought itself was enough to frighten her.

The day ambled by, and though she didn’t think much of it, she hadn’t heard from Finn at all since the night before. They usually opting for voice calls or FaceTimes instead of text when able, but he hadn’t done either. He told her he’d be there only yesterday, so she didn’t see any reason to worry.  _He’d be there._ If he hadn’t planned on going, he wouldn’t have told her such.

Looking at her wardrobe, she knew she should have decided what to wear the night before, and after tearing apart her closet multiple times, she settled on a navy blue dress, and later decided that she should probably text Finn and make sure everything was okay.

She sent a simple,  _You still coming?_ before throwing her phone onto her bed and turning back to the mirror, trying to smooth out any wrinkles in the fabric of the dress that she could easily see.

“Are you almost ready?” Bellamy stood in the doorway, clearing his throat as she turned to face him, arms outstretched playfully as if to display herself. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he smiled.

“It  _is_ a yes,” she confirmed. “By the way, thanks for this morning. I was kind of… lost in my head a little bit.”

“I know,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am.”

Bellamy gazed down at his watch, then back up, eyes settling on her before responding. “In that case, we should probably go.”

* * *

As her family mingled with others, Bellamy stuck in the corner of the room with one of the teachers from the history department, Clarke took in the sight of her work among all of the others. It was strange, seeing it displayed here, hung along a wall with her name plastered beneath. Nobody else- aside from her family- had been by to see it yet, and her heart panged with what felt like failure. In the distance, she could hear her father and Aurora talking to another set of parents, bragging about her, and for that, she was grateful.

The colors of her work stood out among the monotonous tones of the others, and when she looked at it, branches of a tree swirling, intertwining with each other to lead to blossoms of flowers budding in the spring, she felt happy, if only for the moment in time. Her phone buzzed in her purse, and she swallowed, unlocking the screen to see that it was a message from Finn.

_Hey, I know it’s last minute but I can’t make it tonight._

She scoffed, able to feel her hands shaking, and suddenly felt foolish for believing the night would go as well as she’d hoped for it to. Her chest ached with disappointment, and she knew that if she were to look in the mirror, her skin would be tinted pink with embarrassment. Blinking a few times to clear her vision, then looking up at her painting, what little hope she had left manifested itself in the form of sending a text message to her mom.

_You still coming? We’re here already, just let me know and I’ll come out to meet you when you get here so you don’t get lost!_

Clarke figured it didn’t make her seem   _too_ pathetic, at least.

She meandered through the other works, taking in the pieces she hadn’t yet seen and admiring the ones she had for details she hadn’t noticed beforehand. A slow smile worked itself onto her face at the sight of the marbled vase with the name  _Zoe Monroe_  on a tag in front of it.

“Looks a lot better than the last time I saw it.”

The sound of his voice overtaking the rest of the crowd in the room, close enough she could feel his presence, caused her to take a step back, away from the piece she’d been admiring. When she nearly stumbled, he placed a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. She let out a breath. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I thought you would at least be more careful around Monroe’s work this time.” When she glanced over her shoulder at him, fighting a laugh, he smirked, and she surrendered.

“Very funny. I was trying to be careful, but like last time, you ruined it.” Bellamy huffed a laugh of his own, shaking his head in response.

“Touché.” He paused, looking around for a moment before, “Where’s the boyfriend?”

Clarke suddenly found the vase much more interesting than she had before, hands wringing together while she tried to think of a way to avoid his question. “Oh,” she said, shrugging in an attempt to seem casual about it. “Something came up, I guess. He can’t make it.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“No,” Clarke said, crossing her arms before looking at the ground, trying her best to keep the tears at bay. “He said it was last minute, but that he wouldn’t be able to come.”

_“Clarke…”_ Somehow, without her noticing, his hand came to rest on her arm similar to how it had in her bedroom only days before, a comforting weight. Without thinking too much about it, she lifted her own hand to cover it, running her fingers along his wrist. It was easy,  _too_ easy. Too comfortable. Yet, she didn’t mind it. When the movements of his fingers tracing absentmindedly along her skin didn’t cease, continuing with a new intensity, she figured he was okay with it, too. “He’s an ass,” Bellamy whispered, thumb caressing the divot between her neck and shoulder. “He knew how important this was to you.”

“It’s okay,” she waved it off. “He probably couldn’t avoid whatever it is keeping him from coming. I mean, things happen, you know?” Despite how much she didn’t want it to seem like a big deal, how much she didn’t feel like crying because of it, she could feel the familiar threat behind her eyes.

Unenthusiastic, Bellamy hummed in response to her words, not acknowledging them any further. Instead he asked, “What about your mom?”

Her throat felt dry, scratchy when she spoke next.

“I haven’t heard from her, but she’s probably on her way. She’s never liked using her phone while driving.” It was naive, she knew, but she couldn’t bring herself to let go of that last shred of hope she was holding onto.

In her mind, she could so easily envision her mom coming, deciding to be there just this once _._ She would walk through the doors and see Clarke, hug her like there was no tomorrow, and then tell her over and over again how proud she was and how much she loved her. Perhaps it was the child in her that longed for it, or maybe it was simply the girl inside longing for her mother to show her that she cared, if only for the night.

“Clarke,” Bellamy said again, voice almost pitying. He didn’t say anything else after, but his hand tightening its grip on her shoulder was enough of an indication of what he wanted to say.

“Please don’t, Bellamy,” Clarke breathed, voice small against the backdrop of muttered conversation around them. “I don’t feel like being lectured right now. It’s stupid, I know, but I can’t-”

“Hey, whoa,” he stopped her, using his hand as leverage to pull her around to face him. “Nobody said anything about lecturing you.”

She leaned into him, humming in agreement. Whether Bellamy knew it or not, him being there, even if they only stood in silence, was what she needed at the time.

“I should try getting ahold of her again, shouldn’t I?” she asked, looking over at him. His face didn’t give away what he was feeling, but the look in his eyes somehow told her it didn’t matter what she chose to do. He would support her. “Okay.” She nodded, as if to prepare herself as she unlocked her phone, pulling up her mom’s contact. The picture staring back at her wasn’t one from recent years, but rather, from her sixth birthday. She was clinging to her mother’s waist, party hat perched on the top of her head, and though the quality was questionable as she was forced to take a photo of the original picture with her phone, they both looked happy. It was one of her favorite pictures of the two of them, even still.

She gave Bellamy a tight smile as she walked away, hoping he understood. The crowd was just beginning to die down, a few groups of people still mingling around the pieces on display, and the ringing in her ear as she waited for her mom to pick up was almost deafening. It wasn’t surprising when the call inevitably went to voicemail, and when the automated voice told her to leave a message, she took a shaky breath. “Hey Mom. I know you said you’d be here tonight, but I haven’t heard from you and,” she stopped. Swallowing against the lump in her throat she whispered, “Nevermind. Bye.”

She stopped in front of her painting, fingers tracing her name on the tag below it. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and with much more effort than should have been required, she blinked them away. It was silly, really, being so upset over something so trivial in the grand scheme of things. Yet she found it hard to breathe, lungs fighting for air despite her failed attempts to grasp at it.

Figuring it would be best to not subject everyone to her soon-to-be breakdown, she pushed through the crowd and found her way out one of the back doors. Rather than walking elsewhere, she sat on the curb, not bothering to care about whether her dress would get dirty.

“Yours is the best one in there,” Bellamy muttered from behind her a few minutes later. She stood at the sound of his voice, nearly tripping in her heels, and wrapped her arms around herself. Her throat hurt with the effort of trying to pull herself together.  _“Hey,”_ he whispered, reaching out for her. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I’m not good enough for them, am I? I’m never good enough. Not for my mom, not for Finn—not for anybody.”

“That’s not true,” he said, desperate for her to understand.When he reached for her again, she wanted to go to him, to fall into the cradle of his arms and allow him to comfort her with his presence, if nothing else worked.

She almost allowed herself to to hug him, in hopes he would hug her back, but then she remembered the unspoken rule they seemed to have set in which they didn’t interact publicly, certainly never hugged.

“Yes it is. I’m not- I’m not even good enough for  _you,”_ she said, quiet, her voice doused in bitterness. He blinked a few times, eyes wide as if he couldn’t understand what she meant.

“Yes you are,” he assured her. “You’re good enough, Clarke. You’re- you’re  _too_ good.”

She shook her head, a sob escaping her in place of any formal response.

His hand came to grip her shoulder as he turned her to face him, and she couldn’t bring herself to fight him on it, leaning into him instead. When their eyes met, rather than speaking again, Bellamy pulled Clarke into him, arms wrapping around her waist as she buried her face against his neck, breath shuddering against the skin there. After a brief pause, his head moved to rest against the top of hers.

“Whether you believe it or not, you  _are_ enough. You aren’t the one who’s at a loss right now— _they_ are, and when they look back on right now, they’ll be wishing they were here instead of wherever the hell they’re wasting their time at tonight.” He pulled back to look at her, and while she still gripped tightly at him, his hands moved to wipe away the tears on her face, to brush the hair out of her eyes. “You’re so amazing, Clarke,” he breathed, as if in awe, and her heart thrummed heavily against her chest. “Please don’t doubt that.”

Rather than saying anything in response, unsure she'd be able to, she pulled him back into her, her hands trailing down his back before settling around his waist. She felt his breath hitch, and for a second in time, believed that she was enough, even if he was the only person who thought so.

For some reason she couldn’t seem to decipher- didn’t  _want_ to- Bellamy’s opinion of her mattered.

“It’s pathetic,” she said, muffled against his shoulder. “You know what the worst part is?”

“Hmm?”

“My mom’s shown me time and time again that she doesn’t care. Every time we make plans, she promises me she’ll be there, and every time, she bails.” Bellamy stayed silent, which she took as a cue to keep talking. She was sure by that point he could feel her tears soaking into his skin, the collar of his shirt, but he didn’t say anything. “I know I should just give up on her, but I can’t bring myself to actually do it.”

His grip on her tightened, his hand running up and down the length of her spine, burning through the material of her dress. She clutched onto him tighter, wrinkling the fabric in her grasp

“There’s nothing wrong with letting go, Clarke. Especially with how she’s treated you,” he soothed, voice a comforting sound among the thoughts coursing through her mind, loud enough it felt like they could deafen her. “She’s your mom, you’ll always love her."

Clarke laughed, a harsh sound in the quiet of the night surrounding them. As if surprised, Bellamy pulled back, only enough to see her face before reaching up to sweep a piece of hair away that still clung to the tear track staining her cheek.

It was strange, the way the two of them had went from ignoring each other around others to openly comforting one another, paying no mind to whoever might see. It wasn’t uncomfortable the way she’d  expected it to be, instead like a breath of fresh air engulfed by her lungs after being held beneath water for too long. It was exhilarating, almost, for reasons she couldn’t make herself delve into, wary of what she might find.

“I guess she doesn’t deserve my love, though, does she?”

Bellamy was quiet, considering, and for a fearful moment in time she wasn’t sure she’d get a response.

"None of us do, but love isn’t always about we deserve, Clarke.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She pulled away from him regretfully, feeling as though she could have stayed in his arms for the rest of night had she been able to, had it been acceptable. Her hands stayed clutching his forearms, and as her eyes lifted to meet his, shining under the sparse light, he smiled softly, a gentle upturn of one side of his mouth. “Thank you, Bellamy. I really don’t know what I would’ve done without you today, you know.”

He shrugged, smile growing further. “Yeah, well…” His head shook as if he were debating his next words, unsure of how to accept the words of her own. “You would have done the same for me. It’s not a big deal.”

"It  _is_  a big deal." Then, her voice small, yet sure, "Do you remember how you told me I wouldn't always believe that you're a good guy?"

"I remember."

"I think I will. Always believe you're a good guy, that is."

He huffed a laugh, sliding his arms out from her grip only to lace the fingers of one of his hands with hers. She tried not to let her surprise show, having expected him to pull away entirely.

Fond, almost, "You sure about that?"

She smirked, playful. "I am." 

Fighting his own smile, he agreed, "If you say so. Don't come crying to me, wanting to change your opinion when I disappoint you again, though." 

"I don't think you have to worry about that." Somehow, she knew he didn't. Even if he upset her, which she was sure he inevitably would, she wasn't sure that could change her perception of him.

His grip on her hand tightened, as if afraid to let go, wanting to bask in the moment if only for a minute longer before having to face the rest of the world again. Strangely enough, Clarke couldn’t say she minded.

If anything, she felt the same way. 


	4. Chapter 4

She went home that night with an ache in her heart and a swelling in her chest conflicting with one another, unable to succumb to either feeling. Although the swelling within her chest- a feeling unfamiliar yet one she almost longed to bask in- was much more tempting.  

While the rest of their family filed away to their rooms, Bellamy stayed by her side, albeit silently, watching her with an intensity enough to steal her breath away. His hair stuck up in all directions from how many times he’d run a hand through it, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His hand clasped around hers provided her with the support and comfort she knew only he could. Spoken words, even from his mouth, deep and rich and genuine unlike anyone else’s, wouldn’t be enough to soothe her. Neither of them said anything. They didn’t need to.

But when he let go, turning to walk away, he left her with a look, a gentle smile that she knew meant ‘I’m here if you need me.’ After all, he always did seem to be, as of late, didn’t he?

She checked her phone once more before heading to bed, blinking heavily as she realized there were no new messages.

* * *

The next morning, Clarke awoke, tired still, stomach sinking at the thought of the night before as disappointment surged through her once again. Realizing her racing mind wouldn’t allow her to fall back to sleep, she dragged herself out of bed to make her morning trek to the bathroom. The floor was cold, and she momentarily regretted not wearing socks, but the moment her hand touched the handle of the door, pulling it open to reveal a sleep-mussed Bellamy, shirtless, brushing his teeth in front of the sink, she lost her train of thought. He was humming to himself, slightly off key, when he turned at the sound of the door shutting behind her. Curious, he raised an eyebrow.

Her throat felt dry, and though she knew she should turn around, she couldn’t bring herself to do so.

“Sorry,” she said, fumbling for something else to say. “I just- you’re usually not in here in the mornings before I am, so I didn’t even think-” He held up a finger, turning around to rinse his mouth, toothbrush still in hand.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like you walked in on anything, uh, inappropriate,” he said, shrugging, although she could see a blush beginning to creep up his neck.

“Except for your off key humming?” She tried to joke, worried it might have fallen flat until he smiled.

“Maybe I was humming off key on purpose.”

“Whatever you say,” she said, cheeks aching with the force of her own grin, and when he reached out to put the toothpaste back into the drawer, she held up her own in question.

He took the cap off of the toothpaste again with a playful huff. His fingers wrapped around her wrist to steady it, lacking the hesitancy they used to upon touching her. She nearly jumped at the feeling of his skin against hers, their close proximity, still somehow unaccustomed to it. His eyes rose to meet hers, still for a moment, before he cleared his throat. “There,” he said, voice sounding weak where he was usually strong, confident in his words, even with the smallest of them. That was something she’d always admired about him, his confidence. Though it was once often a source of annoyance, at times, she would find herself wishing she could be the same.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

He nodded in response, reaching around her to put the toothpaste into the drawer, and though she expected him to leave, he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back against the counter she stood in front of, arms crossed against his chest as he watched her. In the silence of the room, she could hear the phone ring downstairs, the shrill sound echoing throughout the house before Aurora calley, faint, “Clarke, it’s for you.”

It was rare for anyone to call that number anymore- in fact, she wasn’t quite sure why they still had it- but it was even more so for someone to call asking for her, and she shot Bellamy a questioning look before rinsing her mouth.

“I should probably go get that.”

“You think?” He smiled, and when she reached up to flick him on the forehead, he merely stuck his tongue out in response. His hand coming to rest on the small of her back urged her to go, but all her mind could seem focus on was the heat burning through her thin pajama top at his touch.

It was her mom. (Of course it was.) She should have guessed by the pitying look on Aurora’s face, the sympathetic tone of her voice, but somehow, the voice coming through the speaker was her only indication.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sweetie.” Abby’s voice was timid—afraid, almost. “I wasn’t sure where it would be best to get ahold of you. I know you have your cell, but-”

Clarke swallowed, wrapping an arm around herself. “Yeah, that would have been fine, but this is okay, too.”

“I’m so sorry, Clarke.” The words should have been expected- they _were_ expected- and yet they still made her feel as though someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over her head. She blinked. “I won’t be able to make it to your art show tonight. I know, I know I promised, but-” Tonight?

She sighed, realizing she should have known something was off even before her mom’s slip-up.  
  
“It’s- it was last night,” she said feebly, listening for any signs of regret or disbelief on her mother’s end. A gasp, a sound made from disappointment, anything. “Not tonight,” she clarified further.

A beat of silence, then, “Oh, Clarke. I’m terrible, aren’t I?” _Well, she wasn’t exactly Mother of the Year, no._ “I guess I must have gotten my days mixed up.”

Despite what she longed to say, all of the words she should have said, the only thing that came to the surface was a gentle, “It’s fine, really,” and even _it_ was a lie.

Clarke turned to look over her shoulder, relief flooding her at the sight of Bellamy standing against the wall, a look of understanding on his face. 

Another few minutes of biting back her own tears and her mom’s incessant apologies, the phone call ended, and when she turned, Bellamy was already walking closer to her.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Not really,” she said, and it was as close to the truth as she could manage. Aurora was in the living room, and she figured she should probably check in with her, let her know how the call went, but the more she thought of the conversations and pitying looks that would follow, the less appealing the thought seemed.

“Come on.” Bellamy reached for her hand, a silent question, and Clarke allowed him to take it, leading her through the kitchen and out the back door.

Their backyard wasn’t anything special—a deck, a few plants, an area designated for bonfires. It was peaceful, though, the way the wind swayed through the trees lining the far side of it, the sun’s rays bright yet not overwhelmingly so. When she was younger and they’d first moved here, Clarke spent a lot of time out on the back deck, but hadn’t done so as much in recent years.

They ended up lounging against one of the trees at the far edge, its branches shading them as they lay in the grass, the sounds of birds chirping in the distance and silence obscuring the space between them. He didn’t ask any questions, nor did she try and provide answers, longing to forget about everything, even if only for the time being.

“Do you think we ever would have ever met if our parents hadn’t gotten together?” she asked, wondering. It was a question she’d pondered many times before, most often when he made her so angry she couldn’t see straight, but lately, she’d drifted to it in the moments where his presence brought her joy more than anything else. Beside her, he made a sound, a hum from deep within his chest as he considered her words.

“Probably,” he said. “You met my mom before then, so the two of us meeting wouldn’t have been much of a stretch.”

“That’s true,” she was quiet for a second before continuing, “Do you think we would’ve become friends, though?”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Are we what you would consider friends now, Clarke?”

A few weeks ago Her answer would’ve been a responding laugh, a quick ‘no’ accompanying it. Now, though, the nature of which he asked the question unsettled her. Did he not consider the two of them friends? Clarke herself hadn’t thought about the fact prior to his question, but mulling it over, her heart constricted at the thought of him considering them anything else. Yet her heart, strangely enough, also didn’t seem to be put to ease with the word- the thought of- friends.

“Yeah, Bellamy,” she glanced over at him, a leaf faded to orange having tangled into his hair, a tentative look on his face as he awaited her answer with bated breath. She reached over, fingers sifting through his curls to move away the leaf, lingering slightly longer than necessary. “We’re friends.”

He smiled, fond, before responding with a small, “I’m glad.” 

Clouds had begun to move in, obscuring the sun, and though Clarke knew it would rain any minute, she couldn’t bring herself to move. Bellamy seemed to feel the same way.

“Um,” she started, despite knowing she would regret bringing it up as soon as she did. “My mom thought my art show was tonight, I guess. That’s why she didn’t come.” When he opened his mouth to speak, she shook her head, stopping him.

“God, Clarke,” he whispered. She held her breath, waiting for his next words. “She’s your mom, she should have tried her best to be there. Paid better attention to the dates, or something.”

“I know.”

“No offense, but I hope she feels like shit for missing it,” he muttered, and despite her best efforts, she laughed.

“Me too,” she agreed, and it was the truth.

If she were younger, unaccustomed to the feelings of disappointment and abandonment brought about by the absence of her mother, her constant cancelling of plans, Clarke would have found herself curled up on her bedroom floor, crying for hours and unable to find it within herself to stop. Despite the dull ache that was still nagging at her chest now, she was used to it. Though she allowed herself to be filled with the false hope of her mother attending her show prior to the night before, Clarke realized years ago that waiting for her to follow through on her promises was nothing but an empty wish, no matter how disheartening the thought was.

Her mind, filled with thoughts of her mother’s neglect and the night before, drifted to Finn.

“Finn hasn’t even tried talking to me,” she admitted weakly, looking over at Bellamy. His brow furrowed as he shook his head, huffing a breath.

“Of course not,” he deadpanned. “No offense- again- but he’s an ass, Clarke. If he knew he couldn’t be there, he should have at least let you know sooner.”

“I know,” she agreed, swallowing.

“You need me to beat him up?” Bellamy asked, tone joking, a grin on his face. Yet she knew he was being serious. He’d never been hesitant to make his dislike of Finn known, and Clarke half-wondered if maybe she should have listened to him from the beginning. Her mouth stretched slowly into a smile, and before she was able to stop it, a laugh was bubbling up from her chest, and she was reaching out to smack lightly at his shoulder. Instead of retaliating, he simply took hold of her fingers, clasping her hand in his, and from the warmth of his gaze, Clarke sobered.

“I don’t need you to do that,” she assured him. “Thanks for the offer, though, I’ll keep it in mind.” He leaned back, skeptical, but his hold on her hand didn’t waver.

“You sure?” he asked. “I could just give him a black eye, or-”

“Bellamy,” she admonished, fighting to keep a straight face. “I’m sure.”

“Whatever you say. If he shows up at school tomorrow a little shaken up, don’t blame me.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be far from the first suspect.” She squeezed his hand in hers, thumb tracing against his skin, and tried not to notice the way his eyes fixated on the movement. “I just… I know I’m the one that brought it up, and I know it’s shitty- believe me- but I’d really rather not talk about it anymore right now. Later, but right now, I’d like to forget about it,” she paused, cringing. “Is that bad?”

He was quiet at first, and she thought she might have said something wrong until he turned, eyes gentle, and whispered, “It’s not bad at all.” After a moment’s silence and an awkward clearing of his throat, he asked, “You ready to go in?”

“No. Not yet, at least.”

He nodded, turning back to face the sky above, though she didn’t miss how his gaze moved back over to her once more, as if to make sure she was okay.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he breathed, nearly inaudible over the sound of the wind whistling through the branches of the old Oak tree as raindrops began to fall from above, soaking into their skin. It didn’t take long for the downpour to begin, and Clarke found herself being hauled off the ground, Bellamy’s steady grip around her waist. She held onto his arm as they ran toward the house, collapsing in a heap of giggles against the backdoor. “We should’ve went in when I suggested it,” he taunted, reaching up to smooth an errant curl away from his face, water droplets clinging to every inch of his skin.

Clarke laughed, nudging him with her shoulder. “What?” she asked, out of breath. “Thirty seconds sooner?” His smile widened, almost blinding, and he nodded. “Yeah, as opposed to waiting another thirty seconds and getting fucking soaked.”

“Oh, you big baby, you’ll be fine. Go get a towel,” she teased, walking in the direction of the downstairs bathroom in search of one herself.

She had already dried her hair and was in the process of drying her face when he appeared in the doorway behind her, stepping around her to reach into the cabinet.

“There were none upstairs,” he mumbled, and she nodded.

“It’s laundry day, there never are,” she responded, and he hummed in agreement.

Clarke turned to look at him, and without thinking anything of it, reached up, pushing his hair out of his face. He paused, swallowing, as her hand lingered near his jaw. His hand stayed near her hip, not quite touching, and she wanted to stay there, wanted to move closer to him, but she knew she shouldn’t—couldn’t. The air around them thickened, and against her best wishes, she cleared her throat, stepping away from him.

“I feel like it’s all I say to you anymore, so I’m not saying thank you,” she whispered, clinging to her towel so as not to reach out and touch him again. “but I am saying that being around you… it makes things better, even when I don’t think they can be.” Hesitant, “I can’t explain it.”

“No,” he assured her quickly, “I know what you mean. It’s… good.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Good,” though she felt the word wasn’t nearly enough to encompass how she truly felt.

With one last glance in his direction, she set her towel aside and left the room, though she found she would have much rather stayed where he was.

She didn’t hear from Finn for the rest of the day, and despite the anger brewing within her, she almost wished she had. Each time her phone buzzed with a notification, she couldn’t help but hope it would be him, no matter how foolish it was. She imagined him telling her how sorry he was, expressing his regret, begging to make it up to her—but each time she picked up her phone, turning the screen over, she found herself sorely mistaken, hope quickly deflating.

* * *

“You sure you’re good to be by yourself?” Bellamy asked the next morning on their way into school, and when she nodded, he huffed. “Remember what I told you the other day. All you have to do is say the word.”  
  
“When did you become so violent? “ she wondered, shaking her head. “I don’t know, I might have to report you to Jaha if these threats don’t stop,” she joked, arm brushing against his.

“Very funny, Princess.” The snark with which he once spat the familiar nickname was nowhere to be found, replaced with something more resembling fondness, a soft lilt to his voice. She liked it.

When Clarke reached her locker, Bellamy left her with a smile and a soft, “See you later.” Harper was already there, pulling books from the stack haphazardly placed in her own locker.

“Having trouble?” she asked, fingers settling on the lock to enter her combination.

“Oh, good,” Harper ignored her question, quickly changing the subject. “You’re here. I wanted to talk to you about the party this weekend.”

Clarke frowned. “There was a party this weekend?”

“No, it’s _this_ weekend. You, me, and Mbege’s annual costume party, what do you say?”

“It’s only the first week of October.”

“Halloween parties are good for any time of the month. Come on, Griffin, have fun for once in your life.”

“I have fun,” Clarke protested weakly. “Mostly because you’re always begging me to go places with you, but I still have fun.”

Harper shook her head, shutting her locker. “Think about it, okay?”

As the other girl walked away, Clarke pulled her phone out of her pocket, checking it once more before putting it away. Still no notifications from Finn.

And though he hadn’t tried to contact her any further than the single text message Saturday night, he was relentless upon seeing her in person. Clarke couldn’t say she was surprised, really, at the way he quickly took the seat next to hers in their first class together.

“We need to talk,” he whispered among the muttering of the rest of the room, and Clarke could only manage a roll of her eyes in response. “Clarke, please, I need to explain.”

“You could have called,” she mumbled, crossing her arms. She tried to shift away from him, but it was to no avail, as he only seemed to move closer. “Come to think of it, a text would have been nice. Something to show you cared enough to talk to me, at least.”

“Clarke, I-”

“Save it, Finn. We can… we can talk later, or something.”

Her eyes drifted over to Bellamy, already watching them, then to the empty seat next to him. He raised a brow, and Clarke sent him a half-smile.

“Clarke, please, if you would just listen to me-”

Drowning out Finn’s voice, she found that packing up her books and moving to the vacant seat next to Bellamy wasn’t a difficult decision to make. His resulting smile in Finn’s direction was nothing short of smug, and Clarke stifled a laugh against her sleeve at the glare sent in their direction.

“He bothering you?” Bellamy whispered as the last of the students began to file in, and though she could have lied, could have assured him everything was fine, she found herself nodding.

“He doesn’t understand that I don’t feel like talking to him right now.”

“Not surprising,” he muttered, leaning back in his seat.

The shrill ringing of the bell caused them to quiet as the last of their classmates filed in, Mrs. Green taking place at the front of the room. As she began to discuss the Shakespearean era of literature, Clarke found it difficult to concentrate. Her eyes followed the pattern in the concrete of the wall, the fidgeting of others around her. Though it came easy to her, she wasn’t a fan of literature, and Mrs. Green’s ramblings were enough to nearly bore her to sleep.

It wasn’t long before she noticed herself migrating closer to Bellamy, her arm brushing his as they flipped through their notebooks. Every so often, it became difficult to focus, her mind stuck on the way he would shift every few minutes, run a hand through his hair as he huffed in frustration at the teacher’s words. She told herself the inability to focus wasn’t simply because his close presence was distracting her, but the frequency with which she repeated the phrase in her mind wasn’t enough to convince even herself that it was the truth.

“Better Macbeth than Hamlet,” Bellamy said, nose brushing her hair as he leaned in close, enough for her to smell his cologne, feel his breath against her ear, and Clarke was hardly able to contain her surprise. She swallowed.

“Yeah,” she agreed weakly, voice hardly recognizable to her own ears. “We read Hamlet last year, didn’t we?” She wasn’t sure why she asked the question, already knowing the answer.

“Don’t you remember?”

“I think, but I wasn’t sure if it was last year or the year before.” She traced a finger along the line going down the side of her paper, then added, “I liked Hamlet, actually.”

“Really?” He shifted away, only barely.

“Okay, maybe I didn’t like it, but it wasn’t _bad.”_   

She could feel Finn watching them from his seat across the room, and though she knew she’d have to talk to him soon, she felt better not acknowledging his presence. Bellamy seemed to understand, eyes flitting over to Finn once before moving back to her, ignoring the glare sent his way.

“Bellamy?” Mrs. Green called, and Clarke almost laughed at the sight of him straightening in his seat, head tilted up in waiting. “Would you like to start us off today with the first line here?” He merely nodded, flipping over once in his book to settle on the correct page.

“Stars, hide your fires,” his voice filtered throughout the room, deep, raspy enough to send shivers down Clarke’s spine as she watched him. He swallowed once, shifting uncomfortably in a way so unlike him Clarke almost worried. “Let not light see my black and deep desires,” and though she hadn’t understood his shifting before, the words were enough to make Clarke do the same. She could feel Bellamy looking at her and pushed away the sinking feeling in her stomach, suddenly interested in the textbook sat in front of her instead.

When the bell rang, she silently headed to her next class, and it wasn’t until lunch that she saw Finn again, as he cornered her in the hallway near the cafeteria. His eyes were wide, pleading, and she clutched her books tighter to her chest. Though she’d spent the past twenty-four hours wishing for him to talk to her, to apologize, upon seeing him in person, she wasn’t so sure that was what she wanted after all.

“Clarke, I need to talk to you,” he begged, and she merely shook her head. “You have to understand-”

“Look, Finn, I know you feel like you need to apologize, and I want you to- trust me- but not right now.” He seemed to deflate at her words, shoulders slumping, and she was glad, hoping that he might leave her alone for the time being. “Later,” she reiterated.

“I didn’t mean to miss it, I swear. I would’ve given you more notice, Clarke, I-”

“I can’t say that I understand, Finn.” She readjusted the straps of her backpack, looking at the floor, the wall, anywhere but him. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” She stepped around him, narrowly avoiding her shoulder brushing his, and headed towards the cafeteria amidst the crowd of students.

“Can I sit here?” It wasn't a big deal—it shouldn’t have seemed like a big deal, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was. Bellamy’s mouth quirked up at the corner as he held back a smile, and he took a moment to push aside his books.

“It’s all yours,” he gestured, pushing the seat out as she put her tray down next to his. “Finn bother you any more?”

“What do you think?” she said, not bothering to hide her annoyance. Bellamy was silent, jaw working as he considered his next words.

“Are you- uh, what are you gonna do about him?” His words were hesitant, carefully managed, and Clarke wasn’t sure how to answer.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, honest. It wasn’t something she’d given a lot of thought to yet, truthfully. She liked Finn, and he’d been a good boyfriend thus far aside from the past few days’ events and his sad attempts at making out, but she wasn’t sure whether breaking up with him solely based on that was justifiable. Especially when it seemed he wanted to work things out between them. But maybe, she figured, that would be the best option, even if not permanently. 

“Oh.” Bellamy picked at his food, fork grasped tightly in his hand, and she realized belatedly she’d yet to touch any of her own. “I’m here if you need to… talk, or anything.”

It was sweet, really, and she knew she should appreciate it, but all she could feel was a sinking in her stomach similar to what she had earlier, irritation nagging at her insides.

“I know,” and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Bellamy sent her a look, eyes narrowed, but Clarke only stared down at her tray.

Finn didn’t bother her after lunch, even when she caught him watching her in the hallway, and she mistakenly thought that maybe he’d given up for the day, only for him to find her as she was walking out the front doors of the school, minutes after the final bell already rang.

“Clarke, wait up!” he called, thumbs tucked under the straps of the backpack settled on his shoulders. Sighing, she stopped, turning to face him. Bellamy had already went to the truck, she knew, as had Octavia, which luckily meant she would have a valid excuse to leave the conversation before Finn could occupy her attention for too long. “I know I probably don’t deserve it, but listen to me. Please?”

“You’re right. Now, please, leave me alone.” She turned on her heel, meaning to walk away, but his fingers clasped around her wrist, bringing her to face him.

“I told you I’m sorry,” he said, words bathed in disbelief, and she could tell he was growing frustrated. “Is that not enough?”

“No. Quite frankly, it isn’t,” her voice rose, and though Clarke knew she shouldn’t make a scene, she couldn’t bring herself to care about it in the moment. “I needed you on Saturday, and not just as my boyfriend. I needed you as my _friend,_ someone I could count on. You couldn’t even be that, and instead of calling to let me know, you sent a text. A _text,_ Finn. Why should I hear you out now when it took you so long to even try and explain yourself?”

“Clarke, I’m-”

_“Sorry._ Yeah, I know.”  This time, when he reached out to touch her, she stepped back, away from his hand. “Don’t. I need… I need time. A break.”

His eyes widened, if only a fraction, but rather than walking away, he stayed in place, which she was glad for. If anything, at least she could be the one to walk away from him.

“Hey, you okay?”

She hadn’t noticed Bellamy come up behind her, voice gruff with annoyance, and when she turned, he was glaring directly at Finn; not that she was surprised. “Fine,” she answered, just barely. Her throat felt dry, the words heavy on her tongue. When she looked up, barely meeting his eyes, he reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, and rather than leaning into his touch, she shrugged it off. “Don’t touch me,” she whispered, but by the look of hurt on his face, one would assume she had shouted it in the same manner she had to Finn. “Let’s just go home.”

She didn’t bother glancing back at either of them when she walked away this time, and neither of them tried to stop her. Instead, Bellamy wordlessly followed her through the parking lot.

“What took you guys so long?” Octavia asked, leaning back against the truck. Clarke rolled her eyes.

“We got… held up,” Bellamy answered before she could. She nodded in agreement, sliding into the cab next to Octavia.

“You okay?” the girl whispered, leaning closer.

“Just tired,” which wasn’t a complete lie. She _was_ tired; only, not physically. Based on the skeptical look she gave, Octavia didn’t believe her, but she didn’t push it any further, and Clarke slouched further against the seat in relief.

She could feel Bellamy glance over at her every few seconds before flitting back to the road in front of him, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to look back.

“Are we okay?” Bellamy mumbled, jaw clenched once Octavia had started towards the house. Clarke heaved a breath, forcing herself to look up at him. “Because if we’re not… Clarke, I need to know,” he pleaded, her heart aching with it.

“We’re okay, Bellamy.”

He swallowed before opening his mouth as if to say something else, but when he stayed silent, she left him with a nod and a gentle, “I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

It was a bit of a habit, really, avoiding her problems- or what she considered problems- and despite how terrible it was, she couldn’t bring herself to do anything else in her current predicament.

So, for the rest of the week, that’s what she did.

At school, when Finn’s gaze locked on her, eyes wide in the way that a puppy’s is when begging for attention, she looked away, and in knowing he would try to sit with her in each of their shared classes, she made sure to sit elsewhere, in a seat surrounded by others already filled. With a huff, he would take a seat across the room, seemingly ready to give up.

Bellamy, meanwhile, was a different story. She wasn’t sure why she was avoiding him, not really, but she couldn’t bring herself to quit despite the hurt that shot through her each time his brow furrowed, each time he ducked his head in defeat. There were times where she longed to reach out for him, to wrap him in her arms and tell him she was sorry, and each time she decided against it, all she could feel was regret. Of course, he wasn’t nearly as easy to avoid as Finn was, either, which made things worse.

She made small talk with him when necessary, mostly at times when she was downstairs watching TV and he entered the room, plopping down onto the couch next to her rather than the empty recliner nearby.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said, eyes focused on the show playing in front of them. It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He didn’t have to guess. “Why?”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Clarke protested weakly, shifting in her position on the cushion. He sat two seats over, and the space between them was far too large yet not nearly large enough. “I’m just trying to work through things right now,” she whispered. “I haven’t been in the best mood lately.”

Bellamy huffed, crossing his arms. “Seems an awful lot like you’re avoiding me.” Then, when he shifted to face her, “Did I do something? Did I overstep, joking about beating Finn up? Or maybe I’ve just been overstepping in general.” He fiddled nervously with the remote, his foot tapping against the carpet, and as she had every other day she’d spent avoiding him, she felt awful.

“No,” she rushed to assure him, “You didn’t do anything, I promise. This is all on me, okay? Whatever it is, it’s on me.”

He blinked, confused, but then the corner of his mouth quirked up, and she could feel her pulse picking up in response, a reaction which she tried assuring herself was only a result of nervousness, of relief. (Even she, herself, knew that wasn’t true).

“Okay,” he said, stretching out the single syllable, still skeptical. “If you say so.”

She could tell he didn’t believe her, and the guilt wracking her bones suddenly had her blurting out, “Are you going to Mbege’s party tonight?” He paused where he was clicking through the channels, and she could see him bite his lip, contemplating her words.

“Probably.” He seemed to regain his composure, thumb settling back on the remote to change the channel to a documentary he’d probably already seen a dozen times and could quote word for word. “Are you?” he asked, curious, though she knew it wasn’t without reason.

“Yeah,” she answered, and she hadn’t been planning on going as of approximately five minutes ago, but figured that now it seemed she had to. “I don’t think I’m dressing up, though,” Clarke explained, hoping he wouldn’t question it.

“You can’t just go to a Halloween party without dressing up,” he countered, and she shrugged.

“What do you plan on going as, then?”

Bellamy smirked, crossing his arms. “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” She pretended to frown, and when he’d focused his attention back on the TV, turned away so he wouldn’t see her smile.

* * *

 After rummaging through her closet, filled to the brim with what seemed to be anything and everything in-between, Clarke was able to piece together a semi-plausible costume with leftover bunny ears and a tail from last year. It wasn’t much, but it was a costume, at least.

Even if only a cheap, all too common one.

“I can’t believe you actually decided to come,” Harper remarked once Clarke got into the car, electing to ride with her rather than Bellamy. “Although the costume could’ve been better, I’ll take it.”

“Let’s just say the decision to come was made at last minute. Be grateful I dressed up at all,” she laughed, reaching over to buckle her seatbelt. Harper only hummed in agreement, turning up the radio.

“Why didn’t you ride with Bellamy? He’s coming, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, but I just… figured I’d ride with you instead.”

It was a half-truth, at least.

The party was already in full-swing by the time she got there, music blaring from speakers set through the house and people she hardly recognized swaying to it, drinks in hand. Harper had abandoned her at the door in search of Monty, assuring her she’d be back, but Clarke figured the chances of that were likely slim to none.

“A bunny,” a voice behind her remarked as she leaned over, filling one of the cheap, plastic cups with what seemed to be equally as cheap alcohol based on the taste, but she wasn’t complaining. “‘S cute.” 

She turned, clumsily bumping into the person’s chest.

“Bellamy,” she breathed, taking in the v-neck clinging to his skin, his hair just as messy as usual.

“You know,” Bellamy started, eyes alight with something she might have called lust if it were anyone else. “I would’ve taken a hint and dressed up as Hugh if I would’ve known your costume beforehand. Come to think of it, I should have a red robe lying around somewhere back home…” Clarke huffed, and despite her best efforts not to, knew one look in the mirror would verify that her skin was flushed a rosy pink from the chest up.

“Funny,” she deadpanned, trying to hide her amusement, but she could feel the beginnings of a smile pulling at her lips. “What exactly are you supposed to be?”

He was quiet for a moment before stepping close to her, hand lifting as if to settle at her hip, causing her breath to hitch. Instead, he shifted, leaning against the counter, and she did her best not to make her disappointment known.

“Myself,” he answered finally, smirking, and she shook her head.

“Unbelievable. All the buildup surrounding your costume just for you to not even dress up?” she joked before taking a sip from her cup, wincing at the burn of the liquid gointment down her throat.

“I told you, I _am_ dressed up.”

“Dressing as yourself isn’t dressing up, Bellamy,” she informed him, and he only smiled.

“Whatever you say, Pamela Anderson.” Focused on her, he reached out to tap at the ears on her head, fond, and his hand trailed down to play with a strand of hair. She shrunk under his gaze, looking down at her cup.

“I’m not even a Playboy bunny,” she muttered as he pushed her hair behind her ear. When she looked up at him again his previous smirk had been replaced by an amused smile.

“I know,” he assured her. Then, “I think I’d prefer you over them, anyway.”

Clarke’s eyes widened slightly at his words, and seconds later, as if only just understanding what he’d said, Bellamy’s did the same. He coughed awkwardly into the crook of his elbow, avoiding her eyes, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re cute, Bellamy.”

Without a second thought, she leaned up to press her lips against his cheek, just barely, before walking away to find her friends. But as she made her way through the crowd, she couldn’t help but wonder if Finn was there, too, and quickly realized that thinking about him was a mistake. She felt sick, ears pounding as the music only seemed to increase in volume, and rather than continuing in search of her friends, glanced over her shoulder to Bellamy, stood in the same place she’d left him, focus too heavy on the cup in hand.

It didn’t seem much like either of them wanted to be there, and against her better judgement, she turned back around.

Once she within earshot of him, she managed a, “Hey,” loud enough to carry over the sounds around them.

“Couldn’t find Harper?”

“I didn’t really look for her, to be honest,” she admitted. “Would you want to, uh, get out of here? Go sit outside, or something.”

Once over the initial shock of her question, he nodded. “Sure. I know where we can go.”

He reached out, and she allowed him to interlace their fingers, leading them up the single flight of stairs and out onto a patch of roof covering the back porch. Up there, it didn’t seem so hectic—even surrounded by people down below and inside the house behind them, it was as if they were alone, music and voices still present but quiet enough to drown out. Only a hum.

“It’s hectic in there, huh?” Bellamy asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his knees.

“Too much, yeah. I’m kind of over it, to be honest.”

“Me too.” He shrugged. “I’m just not in the mood for it tonight, I guess. I don’t even know why I came aside from the fact that Murphy was on my ass about it.”

_“You,_ not in the mood for a party?” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Who are you and what have you done with Bellamy?”

He was quiet, and when he spoke again, his voice was light, a gentle lilt to its usual rasp. “There’s a lot more to me than you think, Clarke.”

She glanced over at him, and he was smiling. It wasn’t like his usual smile, the teasing one he gave, but it wasn’t a smirk, either, the slight curl of his lips that used to infuriate her. It was captivating, only a gentle tilt of his lips, and though it was dark, only lights from within the house and the moon and stars above illuminating his face, he was brighter, more beautiful than she’d ever seen him.

“What’s the look on your face for?”

He poked her cheek, playful, and rather than moving away from his touch, she leaned into it, her fingers clasping around his wrist in hopes of keeping it there, if only for a moment longer. Her eyes lingered on his face, the scar above his lip—his lips _._ She swallowed, a very, very bad thought crossing her mind.

Yet, unable to contain herself any longer, she asked, “Can I kiss you?”  

Their eyes met, and even in the dark of the night, she could see the intensity with which he was looking at her. His hand cradled her face, her own still wrapped around his wrist, and his thumb moved across her cheek in a whisper of a touch as he leaned in, closer than they’d ever been. Her breath hitched as their noses touched, just barely, and she longed to cross the space between them, to kiss him silly, so much it hurt.

She didn’t need to worry, though.

She wrapped a hand around his neck, the tips of her fingers only just caressing the ends of his hair, and he closed the sliver of space between them, lips soft against her own—gentle, unhurried. As if they had all the time in the world to figure one another out, and the only word that occupied her mind was _more,_ so much that she whined softly when he inevitably pulled back. Her heart clenched in her chest as she ran over all of the reasons he could state for this being wrong, for why they shouldn’t do it. (She wouldn't allow herself to think of them then— _too selfish, too needy)._

But all he said was, “This okay?”

“More than okay,” she whispered, and then he was using his grip on her jaw to bring her lips to his again, sighing against her. His hand ran down her side, timid at first and then more confident, trailing back up to tangle into her hair as the kiss grew more heated, as they became more comfortable with one another. It didn’t take much, not really, the first press of their lips alone having been more familiar, more caring than she’d had before.

Bellamy's tongue traced against her bottom lip, and as she opened her mouth, letting out a quiet moan and pressing herself closer against him, it was as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on them both, and they parted, foreheads pressed against one another as they fought to catch their breath. The sounds from the party rushed back into her ears, jolting her back into reality. He pulled away, if only a fraction, and she could feel a shift between them. Her eyes darted down to his mouth, red even in the dim light. She wanted to kiss him again, wanted it to be that easy. But when his eyes met her own, even only partially, she knew it wouldn’t be—it never could have been, and they both knew that.

“I have to go,” he murmured, his hand leaving her thigh. It felt cold without him, and she immediately wished he’d put it back, wished he would look at her. Her stomach sank at the realization that he wouldn’t, and then he was gone, leaving her to pick up the pieces he’d left behind. The bunny ears on her head were askew, close to falling off, and she pressed her thighs together to stave off the want she’d felt only moments earlier, a feeling unfamiliar to her.

(She wondered if he’d felt it, too).

Ignoring the way her eyes blurred with tears as she watched Bellamy go, Clarke waited a few minutes, trying to sort out her thoughts to no avail, her lips still tingling from the feel of his own. It was wrong—all of it, and her stomach grew sick with the feeling. He was her step-brother, their parents were _married,_ for Christ’s sake. But somehow that didn’t stop the racing of her heart or the flush of her cheeks at the remembrance of his mouth against hers, and she wasn’t sure what scared her the most; whether it was the dread building within her at what they’d done or the fact that she wanted to do it again regardless of all of the reasons they shouldn’t.

With a sigh and one last glance at the constellations above her, she headed downstairs, the party having died down significantly.

Against her own will, she found herself searching for Bellamy, eyes scanning each room she passed in hopes of seeing his familiar head of curls. But she didn’t, and she tried to ignore the pang of hurt she felt at the idea of him leaving so quickly, knowing it had been because of her.

“There you are,” Harper sighed, readjusting the halo on her head. “Where’ve you been?” 

“Oh, you know,” she managed, head still spinning. “Around.”

She tried to convince herself they had only kissed out of loneliness, desperation, the alcohol swimming in their heads just enough to convince them it was good idea, but that wasn’t it. Staring down at the cup in her hand, Harper’s voice only background noise, belatedly, she recognized the sinking feeling in her stomach at his reading of Macbeth. The way her heart clenched, her skin burned in response to the feeling of his own, even at the most innocent of touches. The reason only he seemed to be able to make her feel better, and why, when Bellamy was around, she always seemed to want more—more of his touch, more of his laugh. More of him.

It was funny, how she didn’t realize it before when, looking back on it, it was so blatantly obvious.

_She was falling for him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, huh? I'll do my best to update more regularly, especially with spring break coming up. Basically, don't go to nursing school, kids. Hope this chapter didn't feel like too much of a mess, I needed more to happen to speed up the plot and whatnot, obviously. Kudos and comments are very much appreciated <3
> 
> Also, feel free to talk with me on tumblr [here](https://illgivethatoyou.tumblr.com)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise?

Water dripped unsteadily onto the tile of the bathroom floor, steam obscuring the mirror in front of her. She wrapped the towel tighter around herself, reached out to try and clear the glass and slowly, her face appeared, eyes turned black underneath from the makeup she’d worn the night before. She reached for the comb on the counter and ran it through her hair, gritting her teeth as it caught in the tangles at the back of her head. 

It was early still, couldn’t be any more than eight-thirty, and she shouldn’t even be awake yet, really, considering she didn’t get home until late; didn’t try to sleep until even later. 

She didn’t see Bellamy at the party again after their- well, after Clarke had thrown all of her concerns and any rational thought to the wind. After he had let her. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of it—his lips warm and wanting against her own, the way he’d given in so easily; almost as if he’d longed for it the same way she had. 

The doorknob rattled once, twice, and she sighed, setting the comb down. She swallowed at the thought of who it was on the other side, knowing it was him. 

“C’mon, Clarke, hurry up,” he said, voice still roused with sleep, fist heavy against the wood. 

“I’m going, I’m going,” she muttered. Unlocking the door and heading for the one on her side, she called, “It’s all yours,” enclosing herself in the confines of her room. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, only barely loud enough for her to hear. 

She sighed again, unsure of what to expect from him now on.

It had gotten easy, being around him. Somehow, he’d become her friend, a confidant, and just when things between them began to get comfortable, she had to go and mess everything up. Clarke and her selfish, idiotic, unfortunately _real_ \- as she was beginning to realize- feelings. Pursing her lips at the pile of clothes on the chair in the corner, she grabbed what she needed, pulled on an old T-shirt and a pair of shorts, and headed downstairs. She wanted to scream in frustration, to run and tell Bellamy to forget it ever happened, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to do either. Because, despite the mess she had probably caused, she didn’t regret kissing him.

She knew that she should have, that having feelings for him without actually pursuing them was dangerous enough when considering all of the things that could possibly go wrong. Their parents finding out, of course, was a reason important enough that she should have known better. The thought of what they would do in response made her blood run cold, and that wasn’t taking into consideration the reactions of everyone else. Octavia, their friends… 

It was a disaster waiting to happen on all fronts, and yet, it still wasn’t enough for her to submit to feeling regret. She was being selfish, and perhaps, small-minded, but the way Bellamy made her feel- heat coursing through her veins, a flutter in her stomach. So unfamiliar, a feeling she was still trying and failing to fully understand- made her think that even with disaster imminent, the impending fallout massive, maybe it would be worth it. 

But the doubt in her mind began to creep in, thoughts of Bellamy not feeling the same way, and that was part of the problem; she didn’t know how _he_ felt, whether he wanted the same thing, and part of her doubted that he did. 

Light from the living room TV flickered into the hallway, sound too low to hear what was playing. A shuffling sounded from the kitchen, and she debated whether she should go back upstairs, forget what she came down for in the first place. It was nearing nine though, and to be fair, she was starting to get hungry. Shaking her head of any unpleasant thoughts, she took the few steps, putting her in the doorway to the kitchen, and immediately wished she could turn around at the sight of Bellamy sat at the counter. 

She could have easily headed upstairs and pretended she hadn’t come down in the first place. However, a sudden tensing of his shoulders, the freezing of his hand where it previously tapped against the granite in front of him, and she knew he had already sensed her presence. 

Her face flushed as she walked over to one of the cabinets across the room, head kept down in hopes that he wouldn’t notice. The _clink_ of a bowl against the counter was enough to fill the space and she cleared her throat. Deciding to be the bigger person, she asked, “Sleep okay?” 

Silence, the kind that made her feel like retreating into herself, so unlike the usual between the two of them which made her feel warm, comfortable. A drop of water fell from the sink faucet in the moments between. 

“Yeah, good,” he answered, dubious. Then, after a pause, “You?”

“Fine.” She pushed her hair over her shoulder, grabbed the box of cereal from his side of the counter. Itched to pick a fight with him over not properly closing the bag, even if only just to _talk._ She couldn’t, though; couldn’t bring herself to do it with the already tense, all too fragile space between them. 

He was quiet, considering. Clarke grabbed the gallon of milk, watched as it trickled slowly into the bowl below, biting her lip in waiting. She contemplated taking a seat next to Bellamy but ultimately decided not to, choosing to stand opposite him instead.

Deliberately slow, seemingly careful in his choice of words, he asked, “You get home okay last night?” 

She dipped her spoon into the bowl, bit the inside of her cheek at the mention of the night before. 

“Yeah,” she spoke, nearly a whisper. Almost immediately adding, “You?”

He didn’t say anything in response, merely nodded once, and though it was just as good of an answer, it somehow felt inadequate. 

“Good.” 

She wanted to say something, anything else, wished she were brave enough to ask if things between them were okay (she knew they weren’t), but couldn’t bring herself to do either. 

A few moments later he stood from his seat, walked over to the sink and rinsed the dishes he had used before leaving the room. He didn’t spare another glance in her direction as he did so, despite the smile she tried to send his way, and in the midst of lifting another spoonful to her mouth, she suddenly didn’t feel so hungry anymore. 

She forced down most of what was left in the bowl, cleaned up, and headed back to her room.

Her hand was unsteady on the banister, feet causing the wood to creak, and when she finally made it to her room, shutting the door quietly behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief despite still feeling unsettled. She was confused about Bellamy, head spinning and stomach continuing to turn- though not entirely unpleasantly- at thoughts of the night before. To make matters worse, she wasn’t sure where she stood with Finn, either. They weren’t on good terms (though she knows they would be if it were up to him), and she had told him to leave her alone the last time they interacted- subsequently ignoring him for the rest of the week- but they weren’t exactly broken up, either. Not officially. 

Leaning her head back against the door, she closed her eyes, heaving another sigh, this time one of anguish, frustration. Despite already being in a mess, she’d gone and gotten herself into an even bigger one—one she wasn’t sure how to fix, whether she _wanted_ to fix it.

Eyes drifting open slowly, she whispered, sarcasm dripping from each word, “Good job, Clarke.”

Monday morning, she was set to ride to school with Harper, having mentioned it in a text the night before. Thankfully, no questions were asked, the assumption on her friend’s part likely that Clarke had gotten into an argument with Bellamy, which wasn’t entirely untrue. They hadn’t exactly _argued,_ no, but they didn’t seem to be on the best of terms, and Clarke wasn’t sure she could handle the ride to school with him, even with Octavia as a buffer between them. 

Practically bouncing down the stairs at the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, she didn’t notice him at the bottom- arms crossed as he leaned against the wall- and narrowly avoided running into him, stopping only inches away when her face was barely short of colliding with his shoulder. She allowed herself to still, eyes drifting upwards to look at him, and told herself it was only to gauge his reaction. (It wasn’t). He offered a tight smile, looking away only a second later, and she muttered a quiet, “Sorry,” hardly any more than a whisper, forcing herself to look away. 

“It’s okay,” he assured her, voice rough, and as she started to walk away she paused again, wanting to talk to him if only for a second longer, but unable to find it within herself to do so. Resigned to the fact, she nodded and headed for the door, grip tight around the strap of her backpack and throat constricted around the words she couldn’t bring herself to say. 

* * *

It was harder than previously, actively trying to avoid not only Bellamy, but also Finn. 

She would see them in the hallways, brush past them trying to get by. Bellamy would clench his jaw, often look away as if preoccupied with something else. Once, he almost smiled at her, as if he’d forgotten everything that had happened, but as soon he remembered, the gentle tilt of his lips disappeared, replaced by the hard line that had been there previously. 

Finn would watch her, try to get her attention—a hand on her arm, his fingertips barely touching hers as he walked by. A desperate, “Clarke, please,” falling from his lips. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, though, couldn’t bring herself to just yet, and rather than hearing him out, simply shook her head, continuing on her way.

”You’ll have to talk to me eventually,” he said.

”Yeah,” she agreed. “Just not today.”

She tried to arrive to each class early enough that she could pick a spot far away from where either of them sat, though it wasn’t always possible. In last period, Pike’s class, she still had to sit next to Bellamy, unable to get there quick enough.

Though awkward, it wasn’t entirely horrible— _different,_ but not necessarily horrible. Whereas they previously sat close enough their thighs brushed against one another, they sat at opposite ends of the desk. The room was absent of his tapping against the material, his pestering comments. There was no smirking, no teasing remarks. It was strange, lonely even, and if she was being honest, she missed it, missed him. 

She could feel him glance at her out of the corner of his eye every now and then and tried not to get caught doing the same, tried to refocus her attention on the board at the front of the room, Mr. Pike’s voice continuing to drone on.

When the bell rang, she hurried to her locker. Bellamy didn’t ask if she needed a ride, didn’t offer. She didn’t ask him for one, either. She would find a way home, would walk if she needed to. After all, she had done it countless times before. 

The parking lot was nearly vacant when she finally made her way outside. The air was frigid, a harsh bite to the wind blowing through the branches of the trees at the far side of the school. She figured walking home now couldn’t be any worse than the other times she’d decided to walk home in the freezing cold, the pouring rain.

Though, apparently, Bellamy thought otherwise about her decision to walk, as he stood outside the truck, leaned against the door. His arms were crossed and head tipped down, a red toboggan pulled over his curls. She sighed at the sight of him, forced herself to suppress a smile. He looked up, eyebrows raising, and after a short moment, pushed himself away from the vehicle, hand pausing on the door handle. 

“You coming or what?” His voice was tired, lacking the harsh tone she’d expected. She nodded, biting at the inside of her lip. “I’m coming,” she replied, refraining from teasing him but tempted all the same. She could have put up a fight, easily would have done so only a short time ago. She decided not to instead, chest warm and smile attempting to fight its way to the surface over something so trivial she once would’ve taken advantage of, wouldn’t have given a second thought to. 

Octavia was already moving into the middle when she opened the door, climbing in. She rolled her eyes, complaining about how long Clarke had taken. The cab was warm, radio on low, set to the same station Bellamy always kept it on. 

“Quit complaining,” he mumbled, nudging Octavia’s shoulder with his and ignoring her whined, _“Hey,”_ as he shifted into drive. “She got here, didn’t she?” 

Clarke didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked over to her, the gentle nod of his head, and hoped that maybe she hadn’t ruined things between them as bad as she’d thought. 

Octavia murmured a quiet, “I guess,” and Clarke watched as Bellamy rolled his eyes, albeit goodnaturedly. Picking at the frayed string of her jeans, she turned to look out the window beside her. The radio station changed, a mellow beat flowing through the speakers, and the clouds outside began to darken further. The rest of the ride was quiet aside from a stray comment from Octavia, mostly complaining about her day, and the rumbling of the engine under the hood. 

Once they had pulled into the driveway, keys removed from the ignition, she stepped out onto the concrete, finding that she could breathe a little easier than she could a mere thirty minutes prior, and with good reason. She couldn’t imagine having a full conversation with Bellamy yet, couldn’t believe that she wouldn’t feel awkward and stutter over her words. 

Space. She figured they both still needed space, that it would only do them good in the long run. 

They could talk later.

She focused on her homework for the first part of the evening. Bellamy’s TV played on the other side of the wall, a volume low enough it wasn’t a bother, yet enough for it to bleed through the walls between them. She gripped her pencil tighter in her hand, pressing it harder to the paper. She could have used it as an excuse, could have poked her head into his room and asked him to turn it down. She didn’t, though, deciding to let it go instead. 

Once she read through the chapters that had been assigned, she closed the book and set it aside before heading downstairs, knowing dinner would likely be done soon, and her father would be arriving home. Bellamy and Octavia were already in the living room, Octavia having taken over her usual spot in the recliner and Bellamy spread out on the couch. She could hear Aurora in the kitchen, music playing softly over the sounds of her cooking, and rather than taking a seat in front of the TV, asking Octavia to explain what was going on in whatever it was they were watching, she chose a different route, heading into the other room. 

“Do you need any help?” she asked, leaning against the counter. Aurora looked up, giving her a gentle smile Clarke had, over the years, become more familiar with than her own mother’s. 

“No, there actually isn’t much else to do,” she answered. Thanks for asking, though, unlike those two in there,” she gestured with her head, sending Clarke a wink. 

“No problem.” 

“You and Bellamy are, however, in charge of the dishes tonight, if you remember.” 

“How could I forget?” Clarke deadpanned, realizing what day it was. Octavia had helped Aurora with dishes the night before. 

“I didn’t think you would. Now,” she started, turning to the stove behind her. “I was wondering if you would do me a favor. I haven’t had time to go between work and everything else, and it’s this weekend, so if I give you the money, would you mind going tomorrow to pick something up for your dad’s birthday?” 

“You know I don’t mind,” Clarke answered, shaking her head, “but that’s if Bellamy will even give me a ride.”

“And what, exactly, does Bellamy need to give you a ride for?” he asked, walking into the room and moving to stand on Aurora’s other side. “Hey, Mom,” he smiled, tousling her hair. She pushed his hand away, shaking her head as Bellamy turned his attention back over to Clarke, raising an eyebrow. 

“I, uh-“ Clarke swallowed, “I don’t- I don’t need a ride.” 

“Oh, come on, Clarke,” he argued. “You just said something about me giving you a ride two seconds ago.” He leaned back against the counter behind him, tilting his head and crossing his arms. “All you have to do is tell me why.”

“Well, that was before I decided I actually don’t need one.” 

Aurora looked slowly between the two of them, confusion flitting across her face. Finding it nothing out of the ordinary, she sighed heavily and stepped out from between the two of them, moving over to the sink and deciding to let them work it out on their own. Clarke wished she hadn’t moved at all as the distance between herself and Bellamy suddenly seemed much less, yet also somehow more than it ever had. 

“So you’re saying that within a few seconds, you went from needing me for a ride to not needing a ride at all?” She nodded, and he took a step closer, eyes narrowing. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not. I don’t need you to give me a ride.” 

“It’s not a big deal, just tell me what you need a ride for and when you need it.”

“I already told you, Bellamy, I’ll find my own way there,” she shrugged, taking a step back and nearly hip checking the edge of the countertop in doing so. It was childish, and she didn’t really know why she couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth and inevitably ask him for a ride, aside from the fact that this push and pull- not quite an argument but an argument all the same- made her feel a semblance of normalcy around him that she hadn’t felt in days, that she’d been longing to feel again since she began to fear that she’d lost it for good. 

“Oh yeah?” he asked, unbelieving. “What way would that be?” 

“I’ll ask Harper,” she reasoned, and he scoffed in response. She could hear Aurora humming the jingle to some commercial that had been playing on TV all too often lately, the sizzling of the pan on the stove. Bellamy watched her, gaze heavy, disbelieving.

“You would rather waste your time asking Harper later than ask me while I’m standing right in front of you, all but begging you to ask?” His voice had lost some of its bravado, what little fight he had left seeming to go out all at once. In its wake was what sounded like disbelief, hurt, and she ached as she watched him shake his head, eyes avoiding her gaze. “Alright, fine.”

He brushed past her, and it wasn’t until she heard the front door shut behind him moments later that she figured maybe it would be a good idea to follow him, to apologize for how she’d acted. Glancing over at Aurora, all her stepmother did was shrug and motion towards the direction Bellamy had left, leaving it up to her. Clarke sighed, nodding her assent, and despite the cool air that she knew would hit her upon walking outside, she’d neglected to grab a jacket, crossed her arms in hopes that the somewhat thicker material of her shirt would be enough to keep her warm for the time being. 

The door clicked shut quietly behind her as she stepped out onto the front porch. Bellamy sat on the top step, elbows rested against his knees. Timid, arms crossed, she sat next to him, mindful enough to leave a plausible amount of room between them. Dark clouds had overtaken the sky, wind once again beginning to pick up, just slightly. Clarke mimicked Bellamy’s position, leaned against her knees, and looked over at him, teeth biting at her bottom lip. She didn’t say anything at first, merely let the silence settle between them. He seemed to be keen on doing the same. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and whether it applied to what happened in the kitchen or to the mess that their relationship had become due to what she deemed mostly her own fault, she wasn’t sure. 

Maybe it was for all of it. 

She still couldn’t bring herself to feel regretful in kissing him that night at the party, didn’t know if she could truly apologize for that since she _wasn’t_ sorry, not really, but maybe she could apologize for all that had happened between them since then, the state of their relationship—friendship? A part of her ached at the thought of trying to define whatever it was they had, when really, it should be easy, the fact that their parents were married more than enough to define it. 

He looked over at her, nodding in agreement. “Me too,” he said.

“Are we sorry for the same thing?” 

He was quiet, licking his lips once, slowly- as if considering- and she couldn’t seem to break her gaze away from him, wishing he would answer her. 

Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, he eventually settled on, “Depends on what you’re saying sorry for, I guess.” 

“For the whole… kitchen ordeal,” she waved a hand, shrugging. “I was childish, and stubborn, and I should’ve just asked you like a normal person.”

“I shouldn’t have kept bugging you about it,” Bellamy admitted. “You know I’ll give you a ride if you need one, though. Wherever you need it.”

He flipped his hand over, asking, and she placed hers on top of it, their fingers intertwining loosely. They were still avoiding any discussion of Saturday night’s events, and truthfully, she was tired of it—this tension, the feeling of not being able to be fully comfortable around Bellamy when all she wanted to do was _constantly_ be around him. 

She swallowed, searching for the courage she needed, and in the gentle half-smile directed back at her she somehow found it. Her heart raced, her head dizzy with the realization that this was it, that she was ready to tell him everything; that there was no going back. 

“Bellamy,” she started, slow. “I-”

He pulled away from her abruptly, his hand leaving hers cold in its wake, and she looked up to find her father pulling into the driveway, the sound of the engine suddenly gone as he shut the car off. Bellamy was stiff, one hand carefully placed on his thigh, the other hanging lazily at his side. The distance between them felt wrong, ingenuine, but she knew to anyone else it would seem completely normal. 

“You two getting along?” he asked in lieu of greeting, hands working at loosening the tie around his neck. 

“As well as we can be,” Bellamy answered, and she let out a slight huff of laughter in response. 

“Well then, consider me proud,” her father responded, sending her a smile and ruffling her hair as he came up the stairs. He continued into the house, muttering something about Diana Sydney working his nerves worse than usual, which was no surprise considering the woman’s tendency to get on his bad side more often than not. 

“I should probably go in, see if Mom needs any help.”

Clarke didn’t want him to, would rather him stay where he was, with her. 

“Yeah, okay,” she nodded, offering him a tight smile. “We’ll talk later, I guess?”

He stood, giving her shoulder a squeeze, and before she was able to glance back at him, he was disappearing inside, door gently closing shut behind him. She wished she’d had the nerve to ask him to stay, knowing their stolen moments these days seemed to be few and far between. 

* * *

“Why don’t you just get him a new tie and call it a day?” 

“He already has enough ties, have you seen his closet?” Clarke asked, reaching over to turn up the heat. Bellamy lifted his hand as if to swat hers away before putting it back in its place against the steering wheel, and she bit back a smile. “Besides, it’s a birthday present, it should be more thoughtful than that.”

After dinner the previous night, soaped up plate in her hands and a dish towel in Bellamy’s, they settled on going to the mall the next evening after school. Their parents would still be at work, Octavia at practice, and it was the only time they could both seem to agree would work. 

“Oh, c’mon, Clarke. What exactly can you get from a mall that could be considered thoughtful?” he asked, and when he aimed a smirk in her direction while awaiting her response, silence drifting through the air between them, she knew he was joking, only trying to get a rise out of her. 

“A Hallmark card?” she shrugged, and he huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes. “I guess we won’t know until we look, will we?”

“Guess not,” he half-heartedly agreed, reaching over to turn the radio up. Clarke resisted the urge to groan at his taste in music, leaning back against the seat. 

“Can’t you choose something actually good for once?” 

“It is good, what do you mean?” He shot her a look before turning it up again, only a bit louder, and she merely rolled her eyes, reminded of the many times before in which he’d done the same thing. It felt different this time, though, and it wasn’t lost on her as to why. “Great, if you ask me.” 

The light turned green, and she couldn’t help it when her gaze drifted over to him, one hand on the steering wheel while the other rested lightly against his thigh, a gentle smile on his lips. He looked at ease.

She leaned her head against the window, trying to focus on the road ahead. Her phone buzzed with a notification from Harper, and she responded swiftly before locking it again. 

When a song finally came on that she recognized, she stuck her tongue out at Bellamy, beginning to hum as close to on key as she could get- which wasn’t actually close at all- and with a smile so bright it made her stomach flutter with what she could only call butterflies, he turned the volume up, choosing to humor rather than tease her. 

Things felt almost…. _normal,_ and though she knew that them choosing to ignore the fact they had kissed would likely only lead to more issues, she was okay with it if it meant being able to be like this with him for now, even if it meant having to continuously push away the part of her that longed to do it again. 

They were able to find a close parking spot once they arrived, and she was grateful there weren’t any crowds to fight through inside, one perk of choosing to shop on a weekday. Truthfully, Clarke had never been the best at purchasing presents for others, and to be fair, neither had Bellamy. 

“I can be good at buying presents,” he insisted, sifting through a bin of outdated DVDs at a store that Clarke wasn’t sure they would be able to find a gift for anyone, let alone her father. 

“Yeah,” she scoffed. “That’s why you only ever buy me socks. Not even the fun kind, Bellamy, just plain white socks.” 

“Which are comfortable, not to mention useful. Why are you complaining?”

“They’re boring,” she rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to laugh.

“So are you, but you don’t see me complaining, do you?” She would have been offended if not for the way he nudged her with his elbow, eyes bright and a gentle lilt to his voice. 

 _“Hey,”_ she tried to sound upset, but he didn’t fall for it, and suddenly they were both unable to keep from laughing, loud, uncaring bouts of laughter. It was all too easy to lean into him, his hand warm where it rested against her lower back. 

 _“_ Like I said,” he muttered once they calmed down, preferring not to earn any more stares from strangers around them. “I can be good at buying presents when I want to be— _want_ being the operative word.” He dropped a DVD back into the pile as he looked over at her, the thumb of his other hand brushing against her waist. “Maybe I’ll get you something different this year.”

“To prove me wrong?” 

“No,” he shook his head, and she briefly mourned the loss of his touch as he turned to pull a CD off of the shelf next to him, reading the back of it before continuing, “like I said, _want_ is the operative word.” 

Clarke turned to face the shelf opposite him, smiling to herself at his words.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Maybe I’ll get you something different this year, too.”

After looking at several stores and finding nothing, Bellamy continuing to insist that they buy him a tie-“Jake could never have too many ties, Clarke, he practically collects them”- they settled on a watch similar to one she remembered him wearing when she was younger. It had broken a few years ago and he’d never gotten around to having it fixed, nor did it seem that he was going to. Since she insisted the gift be more thoughtful than a tie-“Face it, you _can_ buy something thoughtful from the mall”- she couldn’t pass it up once she saw it, noticing the similarities between the two. 

After waiting in line for nearly ten minutes which seemed to last all too long, they paid for the watch and a bright blue gift bag they’d grabbed on their way across the store, decorated with images of balloons and confetti. They thanked the cashier, smiled politely, and bickered quietly over what to do next as they walked.

“You hungry?” Bellamy asked after she’d turned down the idea of continuing to look around the mall, as if they hadn’t done enough of that already. 

“I could eat. Should we just grab something here?” 

He paused, wrinkling his nose at the suggestion. “I was thinking somewhere else. C’mon,” he motioned towards the doors leading out to the parking lot, trying to get a grasp on the keys buried in his pocket. “I know a place.” 

They ended up at the drive-thru of a local burger joint, sign outside claiming that they were most famous for their milkshakes; or, well, as famous as a small restaurant that most people had never heard of could be, Clarke supposed. She’d only been there once before and wasn’t sure what to get. When Bellamy looked over at her and asked, “Trust me?” she nodded, letting him order whatever came with a number two on the menu, though she stopped him once he started to order a strawberry milkshake, because, “Who in their right mind chooses strawberry over chocolate, Bellamy?” 

With a mock-hurt expression on his face that lasted for all of five seconds, he claimed, “I do, Clarke. Not all of us are chocolate fiends,” before correcting the order.

He drove them to a half-empty parking lot on a hill nearby, parking near the lot’s edge. The sun was just beginning to set, temperature starting to fall, and from their view she could see the main highway below, an abandoned strip mall across it. The woods to their left, sprinkled with shades of yellow and orange from the leaves turning colors. It wasn’t anything special, but for a moment, Clarke could almost fool herself into thinking it was. She could nearly fool herself into thinking a lot of things, it seemed. 

“Remember when we used to go out to the lake?” Bellamy asked, and she fiddled with her straw, lifting it to her lips as she nodded. The lake was nearby, only a few miles out. They hadn’t been there in years. 

“No matter how much sunscreen Aurora slathered on me, I would always get burnt.” She cringed at the memories of blistered skin and the chill of aloe vera. “Every time.” 

“And then I’d make sure to poke you, or smack your arm, and you’d get _so_ mad.”  He leaned his head back against the rest, turning to look at her. His hand lay in the space between them, and it was easy to run a finger along the back side of it, gentle, curious. Like she was mapping him out. She looked back up at him. 

“That’s because it _hurt,_ you jackass.” 

“Sorry,” he said, somehow sounding sincere. “I liked teasing you.”

“You did it an awful lot to have only liked it,” she paused. His gaze was intense, unwavering as he looked at her, tilting his head in waiting. “No wonder Octavia was always my favorite.” 

He was quiet, body tense as he considered her words. “Your favorite?” he urged her on, an edge of desperation to his voice that wasn’t there before.

“Sibling.” 

It felt like lead on her tongue, set free only to lay heavy in the air between them, quiet but louder than any word she’d spoken thus far. Almost forbidden between them, like a curse on the lips of a child. Legally, Bellamy may have very much been considered her sibling, but he wasn’t her brother—he never had been, and both of them knew it.

She swallowed, focusing on anything- everything- except for him; the cracked blue nail polish covering her fingernails, the hair tie on her wrist. A commercial played on the radio, the shrill sound of car alarm going off in the distance only barely loud enough to hear. His brow was furrowed, jaw clenched, and he opened his mouth once, twice, before deciding to keep it closed. She was tired of pretending they were okay, the thought of having to continue to act like nothing had happened between them enough to make her sick. She shrunk down in her seat, letting her temple rest against the window, breath fogging the glass. 

She shifted her gaze over to him. 

“Are we ever going to talk about it?” 

“Talk about what?” he asked, and for a brief moment she was terrified he didn’t remember, though logically she knew he did. Slow, almost pained, he continued, “We both know it can’t happen again, Clarke,” and suddenly she wished that had been the case. Judging by her own sharp intake of air and the tears that pricked at the back of her eyes, his lack of remembrance would have hurt less. 

“You were fine with it happening the first time. More than fine with it, really, considering you-“

 _“Clarke._ I told you, it can’t happen again,” he shook his head, face twisted in pain, frustration. He ran a hand down his face. Sounding defeated, voice only a whisper, “Our parents are married. No matter what we feel or how hard we try to deny it, for all intents and purposes, you _are_ my sister.”

“Except I’m _not_ your sister! You’ve never seen me as your sister,” she said, pleading in a last-ditch effort to make him understand. He gave a heavy sigh. 

“If you can look me in they eye and tell me that you only see me as your sister, that I’m no different to you than Octavia; that us kissing was nothing but a damned mistake—I’ll accept it,” she said, meaning it, no matter how much she didn’t want to, no matter how terrified she was of hearing his response. “I’ll believe you, and I’ll never bring it up again,” and when he continued to look ahead, it made her chest ache, her mind littered with a thousand little thoughts running rampant, a constant repetition of _You’re never good enough._ He didn’t speak, the only sign that he had heard her the clenching and clenching of his jaw in response to her words. _“Say it,_ Bellamy.” 

A tense silence filled the space, and she could feel her face heat with embarrassment, with shame. She wiped away the first of the tears to fall, unable to look at him, and he reached for her, his hand nearly brushing her arm before he let it fall, deciding against it. 

Quiet, an admission, “I can’t say it.”

She didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse. 

“Then why do you-“ 

“Can you leave it alone?” he asked, sounding almost as desperate as she had. “Last weekend never should have happened, we both know it.”

“But it _did,”_ Clarke argued, and Bellamy nodded. 

“Yeah,” he breathed. “It did.” 

Finally, with an aching realization, “You regret it.” 

“No,” he said, and this time, she was the one reaching for him, their fingers intertwining in the space between them. He was warm, his touch soft, and she could have almost breathed a sigh of relief. “I don’t regret it.” 

“Neither do I,” but she realized, with the untangling of their fingers and the wary way he was looking at her, what was coming next. Quiet, “You still stand by what you said, though. Before,” and when his responding nod was the only answer he gave, she swallowed against the lump in her throat, wishing she hadn’t been so naive. 

“It’s just—what would happen if people found out? Do you think they’d just forget about it?” His voice was gentle, hesitant even, but his words hit her at full force. “No, they wouldn’t forget about it, Clarke. Nobody would fucking forget about it—we’d be the talk of the town, and it wouldn’t just hurt you and me.” 

“I get it,” she replied, and it was the truth. Naivety had made her believe that they could have been together, had allowed her to think that they could somehow overcome their situation. Voice breaking, “It’s not worth what could happen.” 

“Maybe, if things were different…” 

“Don’t,” she whispered, pained. “Don’t say it.” 

“Clarke, please, just… I wish we could, believe me, I-“ he cut himself off. “I wish we could,” and she swore that if she looked close enough, she would see tears in his eyes, too, but it didn’t make her feel any better, didn’t lessen the pain, the anger—at him, at their parents. At herself. 

“I wanna go home,” she said, reaching for her seatbelt, beginning to curl in on herself as best as she could. Bellamy tried to argue, but she wasn’t having it. Tired and upset, all she wanted to do was go home and lie in bed. “I said to take me home, Bellamy, will you just-“ 

“Yeah,” he said, sounding just as torn apart as she felt. “We’re going.”

He sighed, tapping unsteadily against his thigh, and within a few moments, the engine sputtered to life and they were pulling out of their parking spot. She watched the streetlights, the taillights of the cars in front of them, and tried to ward off any more crying for until she was home, within the confines of her room. 

It was dark by the time they pulled into the driveway, the living room window the only one visibly illuminated. She lifted her head but made no move to get out of the truck as Bellamy unbuckled his seatbelt. 

“Give me the gift bag,” he told her, gruff, as he reached for the door handle and stepped down onto the concrete. She did as told, and quiet, he murmured, “I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well if they ask,” before shutting the door, leaving her to watch his retreating figure and unsure of whether she wanted to laugh or cry, since: She had a boyfriend, because despite everything Finn _was_ technically still her boyfriend, and yet, she had fallen for Bellamy—how fucked up was that?

She pulled out her phone to look at the time as the front door closed behind Bellamy, and she was struck with a sudden, foolish thought. Wiping away the remainder of her tears, she typed out the message and hit send, hoping she wouldn’t regret it. 

**_To: Finn_ **

_Can we talk?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... definitely didn’t anticipate that hiatus becoming longer than a week or two, but alas, it’s been six months. Let’s just chalk it up to a brief loss of inspiration for a number of reasons followed by writer’s block, which was frustrating on all fronts. Anyway! I’m back, and the next update will definitely be much quicker coming than this one. 
> 
> In the meantime—thoughts? Opinions?

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated, as always, let me know what you think! See you next week :)
> 
> Feel free to talk to me on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/deiiamy) or tumblr [here](https://illgivethatoyou.tumblr.com)!


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